Angels and Demons
by Agent Striker
Summary: *FORMALLY known as GHOST STORIES, PHANTOMS, AND CLOSET SKELETONS!* Nancy Drew just wanted a summer away from the stress of her detective job. The summerhouse in rural Canada seemed like a perfect idea, until the pranks started. Harmless at first, the pranks escalate, putting Nan's life in danger. It's up to Frank, Joe, & Nancy to catch the 'ghost' before someone else ends up dead.
1. Chapter 1

**I really, really, really, should NOT be starting another story. Alas, I am.**

* * *

** Nancy:**

It had been a stressful spring. Honestly, it had been a stressful year. Case after case people died and their surviving family put the case in my hands. I was the one they trusted to set things right. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but recently it seemed like the entire crime worlds was coming down me with vengeance.

I'd been working on a case with the San Francisco Police Department that had hit way to close to home. A suspected serial killer had been stalking the city for nearly a month before I was called in. The killer, dubbed 'The Phantom,' lurked throughout the city, picking his victims seemingly at random, leaving no clues aside from a dove gray rose in the hands of each of his stabbed victims.

The talented detectives of the SFPD had worked long hours to track the killer, but they couldn't seem to make any headway on the case. As the bodies piled up, their frenzied search grew to a citywide manhunt and I was called in. Just when it seemed like they were never going to catch the Phantom, I made a break in the case.

I found the florist who grew those hauntingly beautiful gray roses. Harper DePaulett, forty, overweight, single and gay, had become our prime suspect. He had openly bragged about selling the killer's roses, saying that the killings were good for business. When two patrolmen were sent to collect DePaulett for questioning, he had killed one and critically injured another before nearly getting away.

Unfortunately for him, I accompanied the officers and was waiting outside when he stumbled out of the building.

I can still see his face as I raised my borrowed weapon, _like a rat in a cage, _I thought as I calmly told him to get facedown on the ground with his hands on his head. Leering at me, he yanked a gun out of his jacket and pointed it at me. The gunshot resounded across the empty parking lot in the setting sun. I can still see his face as the bullet hit him square in the heart.

Logically, I know he was dead before he hit the ground, but I his eyes were focused on mine until his head hit the asphalt. It was the first time I'd ever killed someone in all of my twenty years.

The whole city had congratulated me; I had killed a menace and a devil, a man bent on killing the innocent. Had any of the nineteen men and women he killed deserved to die? they asked me. She should be glad she killed the scum, they told me.

This was true…so why did I have a knot the size of California in my throat every time someone told me how good she was. The city had wanted to put together an award ceremony after the officer's funeral, but I'd firmly declined. I didn't want a medal for taking another human being's life, no matter how evil that person may have been.

Flying home had a month and a half after leaving, I felt like a completely different person, one I really didn't like. The warm May air hit my face when I stepped out of O'Hare, but somehow I didn't feel ready for summer.

I spent a week moping, sleeping, eating and fighting with my boyfriend. We were now at a 'Dating, but still seeing other people' stage apparently, something he'd forgotten to mention to me.

We had a huge fight over it, hardcore screaming, throwing things, cursing, and the eventual ultimate blow up.

_"STOP IT! Okay, Ned, just STOP! I can't take anymore of this!"_

_He made an annoyed sound with his lips, "Oh, you_ _can't take _it _anymore? What exactly is _it_? Me? Us? The stress your _stupid _job puts on you? 'Cause if it's the job, I agree, I can't take it anymore either."_

_"Stop trying to turn this back on me, _you've_ been **cheating** on _me_."_

_He shrugged, "Guess I got lonely, considering my girlfriend is never around."_

_"So you just starting dating somebody else?"_

_"It appears that way."_

_"What is wrong with you? Why are you being so- Why are you doing this?"  
_

_He locked eyes with me, gaging my reaction, "I'm tired of this, you leaving and then coming back a different person."  
_

_That stung, "Alright Ned, I can fix that. We're over. Done. You're free. Go back to your little honey and have a great rest of your life."_

_He protested but I walked away and didn't look back._

After the breakup I was even more mopey, and that's when Dad suggested I go to the summerhouse in northern Quebec. He suggested two weeks, but I morphed it into all summer. The sparsely populated town where the cottage was would be perfect for resting up in mind and body.

A friend of my dad's had lived on the Hudson Bay in Ciel, a tiny town nearly a thousand miles from United States-Canada boarder. For years, Pierre Gustave's home in the nearly abandoned old logging town had been the vacation destination for the Dad and I on many occasions. The tranquil setting had been full of firefly-summers and warm navy, star filled skies. When Pierre had passed away two years before, he had left the little house to the Dad. We'd only been up to the cabin a handful of times since Pierre died, opting to instead rent it out. This summer, however, our steady renter had moved away, leaving the place empty for the upcoming summer.

After making my plans, I packed a box with books I'd been planning to read, movies I wanted to watch, beach towels, sunscreen, flip-flops, tank tops, and shorts. I placed my laptop and cell phone inside of my desk drawer and firmly locked it. The cabin had a landline, that's all I was going to need…and unlike my cell phone, only a select few people have the cabin number.

And those select few do not including Ned Nickerson.

The last thing that was stuffed into I three boxes and one suitcase was a calendar, which was scribbled all over with relatives and friends who were coming up for a visit. Folding the sizable check from the city of San Francisco for my work on the Phantom case into my purse, I slammed the trunk with a strong sense of finality.

Throwing my bag on to the passenger seat of my blue Mustang, kissed Dad and Hannah goodbye late on the afternoon of May twenty-seventh. I didn't look back as I pulled out of the driveway and headed towards the highway.

These next three months were about rest and recuperation and _not _looking back on the stress that's been going on as of late.

I will _not _find any mysteries in a town with a five hundred year round population and only a hundred or so more in tourists. And if I should happen to come across a crime, I will not peruse it. I will let the local law enforcement handle it.

Or, that's what I told myself.

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**You like?**

**You like, you review?**

**You review, you make me happy?**

**Me happy = Update**

**~Striker**


	2. Chapter 2

**Glad y'all like it! Thanks to my readers and reviewers!**

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**Nancy:**

I was in town for three days and I'd already made two new friends and gotten a part time job. The part time was more of a fun thing than a money thing; I was working two days a week from seven to nine on Fridays and Saturday nights selling fireworks and sparklers to the tourists. I guess I sort of wanted an excuse to get out of the house…it was nice and quite, but also sort of lonely.

Tara Dion and Dave Montechelo took care all of that loneliness. A couple in their late twenties, they owned the fireworks stand as a side business. The two had just welcomed their first baby to the world, Ivory Jane. The artist pair wanted to spend time with their baby and I was the perfect candidate for the job. I didn't really need the money, the SFPD check would easily cover my summer, but something about the endearing couple made me want to get to know them better.

Petite but leggy, Tara had beautiful, soulful amber eyes and long black hair with reddish brown highlights covering her naturally sun-kissed skin. She was a true artist, none of this modernist stuff; she was a wholly organic landscape/portrait artist. She had a soft voice with a French-Canadian lilt and a warm smile. Dave on the other hand, was quite the opposite of her. At six-foot-three and all muscled up from his stone sculpting, he was boisterous and down to earth where Tara was thoughtful and dreamy. With short-cropped blond hair and penetrating gray eyes, Dave was sort of scary from a distance. Once you got to talking with him, he turned out to be a real goofball. You don't expect someone whose sheer height commanded the attention of entire room to be _so _shy. It was actually sort of endearing.

It had been my second day in Ciel and I'd been strolling down one of several docks on a break from my furniture hunt. The small garden bench that lived under an arbor near the water at the cabin was falling apart. I was checking out the stores in town in search for a right one, plus it was a good excuse to get out of the house.

"Hey! You!" A deep voice shouted.

I glanced around; I was the only one on the dock besides a snoring fisherman and a man with huge forearms. He held a sign he was putting up with one hand and pointed at me with the other, "Yeah you, ging! Come here!"

I wasn't typically referred to as a 'Ging'…my hair wasn't _that_ red. I cautiously wandered over to his shack, "Hi."

"You're new to town," it was a statement, not a question, "You want a part time job with crappy pay?"

I shrugged, "Maybe, what is this job?"

"Two nights a week, Friday and Saturday nights seven 'til closing at nine. Twelve-fifty a night. You in?"

It was all rather abrupt, "Well, I-"

"Davey, honey, I do believe that you are scaring our pretty new friend. Be nice," tiny Tara floated out of the Fireworks Shack with baby Ivory on her hip. "I'm Tara," she said smiling warmly, "this is Ivory Jane, and that is Dave. I am sorry if he was a little…grouchy, with you. He's been working with a very difficult rock."

It's funny how a semi-random conversation can lead to a brand new friendship.

* * *

"Well hello sweetheart, how are we today?" I cooed, bending over to tickle little Ivory's pink-clad tummy. She giggled and clutched at my finger as her mother watched from her easel. Usually, Tara and Ivory came out to the firework stand to paint when things got to loud at home with Dave and his 'Rocks'. Apparently, he was working with another particularly tough piece of marble and he couldn't get it to work the way he had wanted it to.

"We are much happier now that we are in a quiet place. Daddy's negative energies were stinking up the place, weren't they?" Tara asked in her baby voice.

I laughed and stood up, "Want me to take over now?" It was getting close to seven but it was still fairly light outside.

She nodded and stood, stretching her back with cat-like movement, "If you don't mind. I think I'm going to grab a veggie pizza, drop Ivory at the sitter's, then go home for Lover's Night In."

I blushed a little; I really didn't need to know about 'Lover's Night In,' but thankfully, that's all Tara said on the subject. Scooping all of her art supplies into her bag, pick up Ivory, then pecked me on the cheek, "Have a good night love, see you tomorrow."

She swished down the boardwalk towards her bicycle and the pizza place and I was again jealous of her effortless good looks. Decked out in an old, faded sun dress and bunches of mismatched jewelry with classy heels and hair a windblown mess, she made me feel like a frumpy housewife in my messy ponytail, shorts, Chucks, and tank top.

Rolling my eyes at my pathetic self, I turned to lean against the edge of the railing to watch the rising ocean. The sun was still fairly high in the sky, but it was setting fast. The sky faded from a bright blue to orange to a greenish-yellow to the navy of the night with the sun as the centerpiece to this masterpiece. There was a chilly breeze off the ocean blowing the salt and the fishy smell over to the town. A few early fireflies were just starting to dance over the beach where a bonfire was getting into full swing. It was beautiful here, there was no doubt.

And yet I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off in 'Heaven,' which is the literal French translation of Ciel. Maybe it was just being in Pierre's house alone for the first time since he died. But sometimes, the house seemed to…I hated even thinking it…but the house seemed to have a mind of its own.

Logically, I knew old houses groaned and creaked and settled; and Peirre's cabin was closing in on its hundredth birthday. But old houses didn't move things around.

When I arrived, I carried my boxes and bag inside on the very first night. I stacked the boxes on the dusty coffee table in the living room, only opening one to get out a fresh set of sheets and a blanket. I took my bag to the bedroom with me, made the bed, changed, and then fell into a deep sleep.

When I rolled out of bed the next morning, outrageously late for me: ten o'clock, the boxes had been stacked by the front door. At the time, I thought I was just forgot where I left the boxes. But that wasn't the only odd occurrence.

My coffee mugs disappeared and were replaced the re-replaced with the original ones. The books I had put on the bookshelf were messed with. Something broke my toothbrush. Food disappeared; clothes that were clean were dirty when I went to wear them. All sorts of odd, creepy things.

The sound of someone clearing his throat behind me brought me back to the real world. I smiled brightly at the lanky, high school kid who stood shifting his weight at the front of the stand.

"What can I getcha?" I asked with a smile.

He listed off a few of the safer sparklers, then with a burst of confidence, "Oh, and you can add your number to my list."

I dropped his sparklers into his hand along with his change, smiling, "I think you're a little young, hon. Go back to your friends and have some _safe _fun. Don't blow anybody's hands off."

He jogged away with a half-grin and when he got back to his friends, their raucous laughter reached me all the way on the dock. Rolling my eyes, I flipped on the light inside the fireworks shack, grabbed my jacket, and my book, settling in for the night ahead.

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**Not very exciting, but it was sort of part 2 of the prologue and then chapter one. Review ****S'il vous plait!**

**Love,  
**

**S**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm backkkkk! Things are about to heat up. ;]**

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** Nancy:  
**

It was a little over a month since I had arrived at Ciel and it seemed like things were finally settling down. My dad, Hannah, Bess, and George had come up for the Fourth of July weekend; it was great to see them. Although it's not a holiday in Canada, the first of July is kind of like the same thing for them. We watched fireworks on the first with the town, Tara, Ivory, and Dave then went to a great big beach party. Bess of course had at least nine of the locals loco over her, and George had really hit it off with Dave, not surprising with two huge sports fans.

I was really sad to see them go and the night after they left something felt odder than usual. It was cool when I got home from a hike in the wood surrounding the house, so I fixed myself some chicken noddle soup as well as a cup of tea and ate on the front porch in the dying rays of the sun.

The cottage with its simple stone façade faced the tranquil Hudson Bay with thick evergreen forests covering two of the other sides. The forth side, which faced away from the shaded driveway, was a sunny meadow cut in half by a stonewall, with a thriving garden growing on my side of the fence. There were heirloom tomatoes, broccoli, green beans, cauliflower, carrots, potatoes, strawberries, blueberries, and even some wild raspberries. I vaguely remember Dad saying he was going to hire one of the locals to take care of the garden, but I had no idea how _extensive_ these gardens were.

Long flowerbeds lined the yard set up in pretty stone beds off set by meticulously shaped boxwood hedges. I don't know all of the names of the flowers and trees, but when Mable, the gardener, a spry woman in her early sixties who had dropped by that afternoon, had been throwing quite a few names around. Things like Purple Giant Hyssop, Silver Maple, Mountain Maple, Speckled Alder, Serviceberry, Pacific Anemone, and Bog Rosemary seemed to be rampant throughout all of the gardens. Mable was a sweet lady, she reminded me a lot of Hannah, and she said that she'd teach me all about the plants if I was interested.

I was interested; it was still a novelty for me to have any time for hobbies. I worked two nights a week and had all day, everyday free. I could garden, cook, read, hike or swim as I pleased. It was a great life.

* * *

I finished my dinner and took the dishes back inside. Usually after I ate I took a walk through the garden, but there was a stiff wind, the kind that foretold of a storm. I went around closing all of the windows, turning on the radio to the local station. It mostly played country with a bit of old rock thrown in which wasn't usually my forte, but it was beginning to grow on me. Flipping on the television as well, I clicked to the weather station.

The meteorologist, Morgan Eddy, an attractive man in his early thirties, was the biggest celebrity in town. He and his wife Brandi got special treatment wherever they went, but from the one time I had met them, they seemed to be nice people.

"Well, it looks like it's going to be rough night tonight," Morgan said, gesturing to the weather map behind him which was covered in green and yellow splotches of color. "We have severe thunderstorm warning from eleven o'clock tonight into tomorrow afternoon. Stay inside folks, this is likely to be a rough one-"

Clicking the TV off, I walked across the room to go and get the cushions off the chairs outside. Reaching for the door handle, there was the first rumble of a distant thunder. I twisted the doorknob and pulled the door in towards me…or tired. The doorknob stopped twisting in my hand and I couldn't seem to get the door to budge. _The salt air must have shrunk the doorframe or bowed it or something…_I thought to myself, shivering when I realized that the door had been opening and closing perfectly well since the very first day I arrived.

Stepping back, I let go of the doorknob. It didn't move for a second, but then it started twisting back and forth. Darting forward, I clicked the lock, then backed away slowly. Reaching for the closet, I quietly pulled it open; grasping for the baseball bat I had found in the shed out back, _thank heavens I brought this inside. _

The whole door was violently shaking now, like the person was just about ready to kick it in. "Get away from the door, I am armed and I will shoot you!" I lied, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt…because if whoever was out there came inside, I'd have to shoot them with an old baseball bat.

The rattling went on for another minute, coming to an abrupt halt with a flash of lighting and rumble of thunder. Jumping forward, I unlocked the door and flung it open, rushing out onto the deck to catch the culprit.

Another flash of lighting filled the sky, illuminating the whole yard. It had been a maximum of five seconds between when the door shaking had stopped and I got outside. There wasn't anything big enough to hide behind, I should be able to clearly see the perp…and yet there was no one in sight.

* * *

Stacking the cushions in the hall closet, I checked that the door was locked again. It was, so I headed around to check every window and back sliding glass doors again. _It was probably just local teens having a little bit of fun with the new girl, _I told myself, _you know the whole town knows you're new. _

Still, it was a little unsettling. Okay, a lot unsettling, but I'd be fine. I'd dealt with much worse. Regardless, I made a note to check into getting a locksmith out here to fix some of the broken locks on several of the windows as well as getting brand new locks on the doors. There had been several renters in and out of here in the last two years, it was probably time for that anyway.

Glancing down at the baseball bat still leaning against the door, I spoke out loud to it as well as the rest of the house, "If I'm going to be here alone, I suppose I should get some more protection. You, Mr. Baseball Bat, do not seem very threatening."

I didn't actually want a gun, but a Taser and some pepper spray might be helpful. Jotting those items on the bottom of my shopping list, I already felt a lot better. It was getting late; the rogue teens would be finding better things to do than torment me.

Digging through the cupboard, I found a pack of microwaveable popcorn and stuck it in the microwave. Ambling over to the TV console, I stooped to the cabinet where I had put the half-dozen or so movies I had brought along. Not surprisingly, they were shuffled around, 'The Yes Man' I'd borrowed from Bess was gone, and in its place was something with a black cover and 'XXXXX' handwritten across it. My ghost had struck again. Shaking my head, I picked up the latest Pirates of the Caribbean movie and popped it into the decrepit DVD player.

The microwave beeped and I jogged over to the kitchen to grab my popcorn. Dumping it into a bowl, I got a Sprite out of the fridge and ambled back over to the couch. Movie, popcorn, soda, just the things I needed to get my mind off the day.

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**It's getting hot, hot, hot in here! So hot, hot, hot in here!  
**

**Mmmm, love me some Flatts!  
**

**Love, Striker **


	4. Chapter 4

**Well hello beautiful world! Sorry for the delay, I've been vacayin' it up. Oh, yes, the Hardy's WILL be making an appearance in this chapter…FINALLY, I know!**

* * *

A very impressive clap of thunder and the cheery pirate tune woke me up a little before midnight. Rubbing my eyes, I turned off the television, collected my blanket, and made my rounds to check the doors and windows.

Climbing into my bed with a sigh, I nestled deep into the soft mattress, watching the storm through the window above my head. The thick branches bent back and forth like they were little twigs and the rain pounded down mercilessly on the roof. As drained as I was, the storm was loud and bright enough to keep me wide-awake. The wind chime on the back porch clattered loudly, leaving me kicking myself for not grabbing it when I put the chair cushions away. I considered going out to get it, but a fresh howl of thunder and lighting kept me in my bed.

Snuggling down deeper in the covers, I resolutely closed my eyes and waited for sleep.

* * *

About quarter after midnight I was nearly asleep when something jerked me awake. It was sort of like those dreams where you're falling then your leg or arm lurches, bring you back to the real world. But it wasn't a falling dream that woke me, it was something I heard…or didn't hear. The wind chime had fallen silent.

_It probably fell onto the deck or something_, I told myself. _You're over reacting_.

Closing my eyes once more, I listened to the increasingly violent storm, letting my mind wander. Of course, it flitted right to the crazy things going on in this house, reaffirming my belief that I needed to get the locks changed.

I was nearly asleep yet again when there was a crash of lighting so loud I sat up in bed with a gasp. Taking several deep, shuttering breaths to calm my fitful heartbeat, I lay back on the pillow and glanced out the window. My heart stopped for a solid five seconds as my mind registered what I was seeing...and when did it, I let loose an earth-shattering scream and flew out of bed, sprinting out of the bedroom.

As I ran, the image in my window filled my eyes; the ghostly white face leering down at me with hands pressed against the glass on either side of it, leaving bloody handprints behind. Tripping over something in the dark I was hurled to my knees. Crawling down the hallway to get the baseball bat and a knife from the kitchen, I let out an involuntary whimper. There was a crash from behind me, what sounded like shattering glass, jolting me into crawling faster. The whole house was rattling again, the wind sounded like a wild animal trying to beat down the door. A long, terrifying shriek started, getting louder and louder, so loud I could scarcely breath.

"STOP!" I screamed, groping around in the pitch black, trying desperately to find the bat, "STOP! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Something hard hit my hand and I grabbed it, not caring if it was the bat or not. I started to stand when I felt an icy breeze so cold every hair on my body stood on end. Time seemed to slow, then shutter to a halt as I looked up in horror to see the white faced, bloody specter that had been outside of my bedroom window standing over me with a sickeningly sweet smile on its face and it's ghoulish hands reaching for my throat.

* * *

"Hey, you've reached Frank Hardy, please leave you name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, bye."

"Come on Frank, you always answer your phone," I muttered to myself. "Where are you?"

There was a _beeeep _and taking a shuttering breath, I began to speak, "Umm. Hey, Frank. It's me- I mean-it's, it's Nancy. Drew. Been awhile, huh? Umm, okay. I'm just gonna cut to the chase here. I need you- I mean, you're help. You and Joe," I sighed, hating how rattled I sounded. "Alright, this is too hard to tell to you're voicemail. Call me when you get a chance. The number's 192-122-3083. Bye."

Hanging up the chorded phone, I ran my hands through my already wild hair. I needed to chill.

I'd woken up in my bed a little after one in the morning, screaming and drenched in sweat. I'd stumbled to the bathroom and unceremoniously hurled into the porcelain toilet bowl.

When I'd finally calmed down a tiny bit and finished emptying the contents of my stomach, I rose to my feet, crossing my fingers that my shaky legs would hold me. Leaning heavily against the sink, I shoved my sweaty hair out of my face and took a long look in the mirror.

"It was just a bad dream," I'd said aloud, "You have a highly over active imagination."

I turned on the faucet, frowning as it rattled and groaned, but producing no water. Glancing up at the mirror, something that looked like a shadow on my neck caught my eye. Leaning closer, my stomach did a back flip and my vision swam.

Across my neck were distinctly hand shaped bruises that still smarted when I ran my fingers across them. Forcing my self to breathe evenly and not hyperventilate, I jumped backwards in surprise when the faucet gurgled, momentarily forgetting about the bruises.

Because there wasn't water coming out of the faucet, it was something that looked sickeningly like blood.

Acting before I had time to think, I yanked the stopper up in the sink and shut of the faucet, effectively capturing a half a sink of blood.

Taking another deep breath, but something stopped me. The smell. Instead of the rusty smell of blood, there was a decidedly fruity smell.

Leaning closer, I took a deep sniff. It was definitely fruity. Looking closer, I could see that the 'blood' was a very bright red red, not a dark _blood _red. Sticking the tip of my finger into the sink, I ran the tip of my tongue along my finger. The 'blood' tasted a lot like Hawaiian Punch.

Stepping back from the sink, I closed my eyes. These practical jokes weren't very funny any more. I stumbled out of the bathroom, flipping on lights as I went. Grabbing up the phone, I dialed the number I knew by heart and left my somewhat meandering message.

* * *

**Frank's POV:**

_BANGBANGBANGBANG! _The machine gun fire drove me towards the back of the supposedly abandon building that Joe and I had spent the last three weeks staking out. We were looking for smugglers who'd been bringing in endangered animals to sell as pets for a heavy price.

To be honest, I hadn't thought that this case would involve Plus-Sized machine guns to go with the Extra Large goons, but you know how it goes.

Just as Joe and I found a place that the goons apparently they couldn't see us, or at least when they stopped shooting, when my phone when off. Really loudly.

"Frank," Joe hissed, "_What_ are you doing? Shut that thing up!"

I was wiggling around trying to get my phone out of my hiking boot, but the goons were on to us again. "THEY ARE UP THERE!"

"Shut that thing up!" Joe hiss/screamed again.

"I'm trying- Wait, it's Nancy."

"So. Not. Important. Call her back."

"What if she needs us?"

Joe pulled the phone from my hand, "There's a really big guy with a really big gun that is more important then your girlfriend-"

"She's _not_ my girlfriend-"

"We need to focus if we want to get out of here in some semblance of live-ness!"

Before I could say anything else, I bullet came entirely to close to my nostril and the phone was forgotten…for the time being anyway.

* * *

**Sounded kind of forced to me…do you still like it?**

**~Striker**


	5. Chapter 5

**Well, hello. Do I know you? Oh, you're a fan? Well isn't that something? I'm a big fan of my fans; I sort of love you all. ;]**

* * *

**Nancy's POV:**

Three days after my midnight adventure, the shrill ringing of the phone drew me in from the warm sunshine outside. Wiping the dirt from my hands on my cutoffs, I picked up the phone and forced a cheery, "Hello!"

"Hey Nan!"

I could have danced on the ceiling, "Frank! I'm so glad you called."

"I'm sorry it took so long to get back to you, Joe and I were wrapping up a case. Are you okay? You sounded kind of…well, weird, on the message you left me."

I was silent for a moment, "Yeah, I'm okay."

There was a pause; "I think you're lying to me, about being fine anyway. You wanna talk about it?"

Sighing, I ran my hands through my hair, "No. Especially not over the phone."

Frank sighed, and I smiled at the though he was probably running his hands through his own hair. "Nancy, what's going on? You don't sound like…you."

He sounded sort of frustrated, but I couldn't blame him. "I'm sorry," I said in a soft voice, leaning back against the wall next to the phone, "I'm not making this easy."

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. I was beginning to think that I'd lost the connection when Frank spoke again, "You're in trouble."

It wasn't a question.

"More than usual," I said with a forced laugh.

"Nancy," Frank said in a warning tone. Apparently he wasn't buying my It's-Actually-Not-As-Bad-As-It-Sounds-Act.

"Someone's been playing practical jokes on me," I said in a rush, stumbling over my words, "They started out harmless, moving things, taking things, prank calls, ding-dong-ditch, kid stuff. But they're not so harmless anymore."

"What happened?" Frank questioned, the worry clear in his voice.

"Last night…" I let out a shuttering breath, hating myself for my weakness.

"Last night what?" he demanded.

"Can you and Joe come up to the cabin?" I asked, avoiding the question. "I _need_ help."

"You tell me what happened last night and we'll be on a plane within the hour," was his bargain.

"Last night, someone, or something, tried to kill me."

* * *

Twenty minutes after hanging up with Frank, I was back in the garden, weeding the endless flowers in the warm sun. The task kept my hands busy and my mind otherwise occupied. I'd taken to spending hours and hours outside in the garden.

While the house sat in a perpetual shadow, one cast by a large oak tree and further enhanced by the goings on, the garden was a sunny getaway. I spent most of the mornings weeding, mulching, and planting. By the afternoon, I was ready for a bike ride or a hike or a swim in the frigid water of the bay. To anyone watching me, it looked like I was having a lovely, relaxing vacation.

I'll admit it, the days weregood. I loved my summer life. It was the nights that were slowly killing me. The nightmares lasted long into the wee hours of the morning and the lack of sleep was beginning to show. I'd lost weight and there were big, bruise-like smudges under my eyes. The slightest noise would make me jump and I was getting a crick in my neck from craning it over my shoulder all the time.

I'd even spent a couple nights camping in a tent down the coast, as far away from the cabin as I could hike in a day. The practical jokes may not have followed me, but the dreams had.

Plunking down on the wooden swing overlooking the water, I watched the waves, the garden forgotten about. Out of force of habit, I'd brought the journal I keep about my cases that went back to my first major case at sixteen.

Four years worth of thieves, conmen, druggies, murderers, gang members, people you wouldn't want to run into in a dark alley. Most of them were still in prison, severing anywhere from five to life, and of the ones out of prison, none had made any physical threats to me. It didn't make sense, if the prankster wasn't someone from my past, then who could it be?

* * *

**Frank's POV:**

When I'd told Nancy that we'd be on a plane within the hour, I hadn't been lying. Exactly thirty-nine minutes later, Joe and I were at the end of the Bayport runway. If you travel a lot, it's a great idea to get your own flying license.

"And all she said was someone tried to kill her yesterday?" Joe questioned once we were up in the air.

"Or something."

"What?"

"She said, 'Someone, or something,' had tried to kill her," I said slowly.

"What does that even mean?"

I shrugged, "I didn't ask, I got a little distracted by the attempted murder angle."

We sat in silence for a while before Joe spoke again, "And you said she sounded rattled?"

"Yeah, not like herself at all."

"It takes a lot to rattle Nancy," Joe pointed out.

"True," I agreed.

"So whatever is going on is pretty bad."

I cast a sideways glance at my brother, "Yeah," I said slowly, "so what's your point."

He shrugged this time, "Just thinking this is likely to be an interesting case."

"You're not chickening out on me, are you?"

Joe straightened up in the seat, fairly bristling, "No! I happen to like the interesting cases! And Nan's my friend too, you know. I wouldn't leave her to figure out this thing alone."

I laughed sardonically and turned my attention back to the airplane's instruments. Truth be told, I was sort of worried about how this case was going to go as well.

Joe said what I'd been thinking. It takes a lot to rattle Nancy.

* * *

**A bit of a filler, but I wanted to get inside of the Hardy's minds! ;]**

**Love, Striker**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello readers and reviewers, my favorite people of the world! Ready for another chappy? One that's REALLY long? **

**Yes?**

**Well then, READ ON!**

* * *

**Joe**

It was midafternoon when we landed at the airport outside of the Ciel. Okay, 'airport' was a really generous statement. It's more like one rusty, rundown hanger and an extremely short strip of flat-ish grass that somebody halfheartedly cleared a decade ago. Since then, there hasn't been too much maintenance. And did I mention that this 'landing strip' ends at a very intimidating cliff? It's like the runway's there and then if just falls off the face of the earth.

Before we bounced nearly to our deaths on the runway, Frank had radioed the airport four or five times before receiving a semi-startled sounding okay to land. Apparently, they don't have a lot of planes landing here.

Somehow, I am not surprised.

After talking to Mr. Rob Roy, a bull of a man with a long, lumberjack beard and a thick French-Canadian accent that made you think he was going to interject _Sacre Bleu!_ into all of his sentences, we convinced him into letting us store our small Cessna in the hanger for the time that we'd be here. Then, I made the mistake of asking him if he'd heard of anything new going on in town.

"Well, there was that young Martin fella…ran away to the big city to be a _poet_. What kind of scatter-brained boy is a _poet?_ Oh, and Sally Dion's daughter, the oldest one…Ella I think her name is, got pregnant and won't say who the father is. My bet is on that rascal Timmy O'Hair, can't trust those foreigners, especially the likes of the O'Hair family. Been a hindrance to the community since they moved here in '34. 1834 that is. Oh, and that American girl has been seeing the Labelle ghosts-"

Frank cut off Mr. Roy's long speech at the mention of the American girl and the ghost, "What ghost?"

Mr. Roy smiled, wide and slow, "Ah, the Labelle ghost, quite a tale. Come sit a while and I'll tell you the whole story."

Leading us to the back of the oily smelling hanger to a large well-lit workbench, he sat down on a stool, then motioned for us to take a seat on a couple of crates in front of him. Reaching for a thermos and a packet of beige cookies he said with a smile, "Coffee and a maple crème? My wife makes the best ones in town."

Shaking our heads, Mr. Roy popped one of the small cookies in his mouth and washed it down with a swig of coffee. By the time he had replaced the thermos and cookies to his lunch box, the suspense was nearly killing me.

Sitting back, he looked at both of us for another minute before starting his tale. Leaning forward, his voice slipped into a deep, accented timber like someone who told stories like these a lot.

"The house that the American is staying in was built in 1899 by one Louis Labelle for his new bride Bernadette, back when this town was still a thriving logging community. It was to be a small, summer getaway from their home in Montreal. Louis loved the little cabin, however, the first summer spent there was not a happy one. Bernadette _hated _the house, she hated the whole town. She wanted the city life, but Louis really loved it out here. He had even begun plans to move out to Ciel permanently. But alas, Bernadette would not let that happen."

He stopped, watching for our reactions. "How come?" I urged, looking beseechingly at our host.

He smiled, satisfied with my reaction, "You see, Bernadette was a number of years younger than her husband. The marriage to him was simply a convenience for her; she cared for nothing but Louis's money. She had another lover in the city, one who she could not bear to leave. So she and this lover hatched a plan. They were going to kill the man, collect his money and depart the country.

One stormy night in the middle of the summer, Bernadette's lover snuck into the house. When he arrived, the place was a mess. Blood, broken glass and furniture littered the whole house. When he got to the back bedroom, he found them, Louis and Bernadette, both dead. Shot in the heart, entangled in an embrace of death, they lay on their bed, soaked in blood. A suicide-murder? A guilty conscience? An intruder? No one ever knew. The lover, he ran from the house and to town to tell of the deaths. After that, he just disappeared.

Some people say that he died of a broken heart, some people say that Bernadette's ghost killed him because he did not get there in time to commit the act. Some say he moved the your United States. Some say he just got lost in the wilderness, it was a stormy night, easy to lose one's way, but nobody knows for sure.

To this day, all three souls haunt the house and the garden around it. On stormy nights, it is said that old Louis's ghost appears at the bedroom window while his wife wails throughout the whole place. And on moonless nights, nights so dark, even the devil himself stays home; you can see Bernadette and her lover strolling on the beach."

Frank and I sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the story soak in. It was interesting, but I for one wasn't one hundred percent sure that it was actually true. Mr. Roy seemed convinced though.

Frank stood abruptly, "Well, we won't take up any more of your time, Mr. Roy. Thanks for letting us leave the plane here. We've got to get going."

Standing, Mr. Roy walked with us to the door. There was a breeze now, and I could see some gray clouds on the horizon. Grabbing our bags from the plane, Mr. Roy had one more pearl of wisdom to pass along to us.

"You lads and your pretty friend ought to be careful, all these ghosts died before their time. They are mean and out for blood. Mark my word; the sprits are at their greatest unrest when something's amiss. Or when someone is going to die."

"We didn't-" I began.

Mr. Roy laughed, "I know you did not say anything about her, but it doesn't take a detective to connect the dots. I may live in the middle of nowhere, but I am no fool. Take care boys, and do not forget," he looked at each of us in turn, "sometimes, there are things that _nobody _can explain."

Leaving Frank and I standing in the fading sunshine with our mouths hanging open, Mr. Roy disappeared into the hanger without looking back.

* * *

After an _invigorating _two-mile hike, 'cause apparently they have no form of taxi service in this backwater, we finally arrived at Nancy's little stone cottage.

Walking through the extensive gardens to get to the front door, my eyes wandered unheeded to the beach. There was a flash of white and I did a double take, but no, it wasn't the murderess Bernadette, it was a sea gull. _Snap out of it Hardy, _I chastised myself, _Nancy's already shaken up, you don't need to add to her stress. Don't let anything Roy said get to you._

Jogging up the steps ahead of Frank, I knocked loudly on the edge of the worn wooden screen door, "Hello? Anybody home?"

"Joe? Come on in!" Nancy's voice echoed from somewhere inside of the house.

Pulling the door back, I head it open for my brother, "Ladies first."

He made a face, slapping me in the stomach as he passed, but he chose to ignore my comment. Guess he was to focused on seeing Nancy. _Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge._

A couple of steps inside lead us past a closet and into a high-ceilinged great room that sat next to the kitchen, which was radiating a smell that could be described as…utterly delicious.

Dropping my bag on the floor, I followed my nose. On a rack on the counter sat a dozen or so red jam jars and behind them stood Nancy and a stout, smiling woman.

Dressed in a blue tank top and shorts with an apron and her hair pulled back, Nancy looked completely normal at first glance. However, on closer inspection, there were heavy circles under her eyes and her sincere smile didn't reach nearly as high as it usually did. "Frank, Joe," she said in delight, "I'm so glad you're here!"

I theatrically sniffed the air, "I follow where ever my stomach leads me…and right now, it's telling me that this is a good place to be. Mmm!"

Nancy laughed and Frank rolled his eyes. "How are you doing?" he asked, glancing casually at the woman beside Nancy.

"I'm great," she said, "But sorely lacking in manners. Frank, Joe, this is Mable. She keeps up all the gardens around this place. Frank and Joe are friends of mine from the States."

"It's lovely to meet you both. Nancy dear, I hate to leave you with this mess, but I promised my daughter-in-law that I'd watch the grandkids tonight, I really need to get going."

"It's fine," Nancy said, glancing at Frank and I, "I've got two more pairs of able hands, we'll be done in no time."

"But I might faint from hunger!" I protested as Mable gathered her things and quietly left, laughing at my antics.

When the door slammed shut, Nancy tossed a towel at my head, "Goofball dries."

"Um, Nan, you must be confused. I am no goofball."

"Ha!" she said, turning back to the sink.

Up till this point, Frank had been uncharacteristically quiet, "Nancy-"

"Let's just clean up and I'll start dinner, okay? I don't want to talk about anything serious yet," she pleaded, turning back to face us.

Exchanging a glance, I started to dry the stack of cups and bowls that sat on the island while Frank stumbled through putting things back where they came from. For my part, I did my best to keep the light banter going, but it didn't work so well.

About half an hour later, all the dishes were done and Nancy was looking through her cupboards, "How does spaghetti sound? I have a bunch of homemade pasta sauce."

"I'm so hungry, I'd eat anything at this point," I said, clutching my stomach dramatically, "even Frank."

She laughed again, "Oh, Joe. I've missed you guys."

Stepping across the room, her skinnier-than-I-remembered-arms embraced me in a tight squeeze, one that seemed more…desperate, than usual. Turning to Frank, she hugged him long and tight, longer than usual, even for those two.

Running her hands through her hair, she set the pasta in the boiling water and left the sauce on the stove warming. Motioning us over to the couch, she plopped down unceremoniously.

"I'm losing my mind. There's no other explanation," she said without preamble.

"Tell us about the other night," Frank said, ignoring her insanity comment, "when you called me."

She let out a sigh, "It was just a regular day. Went on a hike, took a swim, went to town, came home, made dinner, and fell asleep on the couch watching a movie. I woke up a little before midnight and went to bed. Then I had the most horrible nightmare," she shuttered, "but it…it was real. I don't know…look," she pushed her hair back and I could see definitive hand-shaped bruises.

Frank hissed in anger and I gaped in shock, "What went on in this 'dream'?" I asked as Frank bent to look closer at the bruises.

Quietly, she explained everything, the specter in the bedroom during the storm, the wailing, and finally the Fruit-Punch/Blood in the sink, "I _know _the window broke. But when I woke up, it was fine, the whole house was just as I left it."

Frank and I glanced at each other again. An unspoken agreement passed between us, "Nan," Frank said slowly, "We talked to a man down at the airport today…he told us a very interesting story…"

As Frank launched into Mr. Roy's legend, Nancy stood and mechanically started to put dinner together, occasionally nodding and interjecting questions or statements.

We were sitting down and half way through dinner by the time Frank was finished. Nancy sat at the end of the table, slurping spaghetti thoughtfully, acting more like her old self.

"I don't believe in ghosts," she said firmly, "spirits don't leave bruises and screw with wells."

"So, we're all in agreement," Frank said, "no ghosts."

I nodded, "It's gotta be a person."

"Who's trying to scare me away from the house," Nancy pointed out.

"Because they want something from it maybe?" I added.

"Or they've got a grudge against you," said Frank.

"Or they're crazy," I muttered, taking my third helping of pasta.

Nancy grinned, "It's good to be brainstorming with you guys again. I feel loads better."

"Anything for you, Nan," Frank said. I pretended not to see the look he shot her. Kinda pathetic puppy love if anyone would ever ask me. Not that they usually do.

"We'll start our investigation bright and early tomorrow," Nancy declared. Eyeing my full plate, she shook her head, "You act like no one ever feeds you, Joe."

The playful banter was back. We passed the evening eating, catching up, and playing cards on the deck until it was too dark to see. Climbing into the top bunk of the bed in the guest room around eleven, I was determined to get what ever was going on set straight fast. Nancy did so much good in the world; she didn't deserve to suffer like this.

* * *

**Well? Review please!**

**~Striker **


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! I know you all probably thought that I'D become a ghost, but I was in fact working. Let me just set a rumor straight, BEING A CAMP COUNCLER IS **_**NOT**_** AN EASY JOB! Not at all. **

**So, you've probably noted the new title, ****Angles and Demons****. I decided that ****Ghost Stories, Phantoms, and Closet Skeletons**** was rather wordy and didn't sound like a ND/HD mystery. And if you remember, Ciel means sky or heaven in French, so that's where I got the idea. Let me know if you like this new title!**

**And, just FYI, that this story is set in summer of 2009. (1899 when the house was built, 110****th**** anniversary… :D )**

**Love to my fearless readers and reviewers!**

* * *

**Nancy**

For the first time in recorded history, I actually slept in later than _Joe Hardy_. Although the Hardys' were sleeping right down the hall, I still rolled around sleeplessly most of the night. It was nearly nine when I stumbled out of my room and towards the kitchen where the aroma of coffee, something burning, and the sound of voices rang out.

"-how hard is it to scramble a bunch of eggs?" Frank's semi-distressed voice cut through the noise in the kitchen.

"It's harder than it looks, Frank. If you think it looks so easy, why don't you-" there was a crash followed by a string of colorful curses as I rounded the corner.

Tied up in matching aprons, both boys were holding some sort of utensil and bowl. There was a tall, leaning stack of very brown pancakes on the dining room table with a big basket of fruit on the chair and a bowl full of eggshells sat in the sink. Various dirty pans were scattered across the counters and there was what looked like orange juice on the floor.

"Nancy. Umm, well. You're up," Frank said with bright red cheeks.

"Thanks for noticing," I said, eyeing the mess as I poured myself a cup of coffee. Which tasted surprisingly good, I always forgot that Joe made a mean brew.

"Surprise, we made you breakfast," Joe said unceremoniously, plunking down a plate full of pancakes, eggs, and what might have once been bacon, while glaring at his brother.

"And I mess I see. But it's really sweet of you two," I said, taking a big bite of the pancake. Doughy, uncooked pancake. Swallowing with a gulp, I ginned at the brothers, "Yum, they're delicious!"

As Joe and Frank sat down across from me with their own plates, I braved a bite of the bacon, which if it hadn't been black might have been fairly good.

Eating in silence until our plates were nearly empty. I finally shook myself out of my sleep-deprived stupor after draining my third cup of coffee, "So, what's our plan?"

Frank looked up, "I was thinking we should head to town, maybe do a little research on the house and the story Mr. Roy told us, talk to the locals."

"I think we should go through the house with a fine tooth comb," Joe piped up, "maybe somebody's looking for something that your dad's friend hid here."

I nodded, "And there's this lady that Mable was telling me about, Lucy Michaud, age one hundred and nine. Apparently, she's the oldest person in town and has lived here her entire life-"

"Wait, she's _one hundred and nine_?" Joe asked, snapping out of his food-focused daze.

I shrugged, "And apparently still as sharp as a tack."

"_One hundred and nine_?" Joe repeated.

"The oldest woman in the world lived to be one hundred and twenty-two," Frank pointed out helpfully.

Moving on, "Mable said she knows every story about everything that's ever gone on in this town. I think it would be good to talk to her."

Frank nodded thoughtfully, "Why don't we spilt up? You can talk to Lucy Michaud and anybody else you happen to run into, I'll head to the library, and Joe can check out the house."

"Why do I always have to search the house?" Joe whined.

"I'm not sure I want Joe going through my stuff," I said; mock glaring at Joe, who did his best to look indignant.

"I am deeply offended," He said, throwing back his chair and taking his stack of plates/utensils over to the sink. Apparently, he didn't mind raw pancakes and burnt bacon.

Also standing, I took Frank's plate from him as well as my own, "I can go through the house, Joe's better at flirting with old women than I am."

"I have never- Okay, I have. But never with anyone over one hundred," Joe said.

"That sounded incredibly dirty," Frank snickered. Joe's response was to make a rude gesture involving his middle finger.

Reaching out and slapping both brothers for good measure, I rolled my eyes, "You two are horrible. I'll go through the house, Frank will go to the library and historical society, and Joe will go talk to the locals. Now get going, we'll regroup here at one!"

Turning back to the sink with an air of finality, I filled up the sink to start the innumerable dishes.

* * *

After getting the kitchen back to my semi-OCD cleanliness standards, I took a basket of laundry back to my bedroom. Setting it on the bed, I surveyed the room. Most of the furniture had been bought locally and it was in the same position as I remembered from my childhood. Heading towards the front outside wall, I tapped my knuckles over every inch of it, pausing to move the dresser and check the drawers for anything that wasn't mine.

Finding nothing, I replaced the dresser and moved to the wall with the bed, window and two bedside tables. Moving in the same meticulous manner of before, I thoroughly searched the rest of the room and the closet before putting my laundry away and moving down the hallway.

As with the bedroom, the short hallway revealed nothing more unusual than a large dusty bunny. Heading to the bathroom, I checked inside the closet, tapping on all of the sides in search of a secret panel and crawled under the sink inside of the cabinet (and found a MASSVIE spider) in search of something important to no avail.

When I made it back to the hall closet, I finally stuck pay dirt. When I moved a heavy tackle box and an old fishing pole, I noticed a small hole in the back of the wall near the door.

Pushing all of my gear out of the way, I wiggled my shoulders under the bottom shelf to get closer to the hole. Tapping on the wall it definitely sounded hallow, so I carefully ran my hand over the back wall. I could feel seams in the wood that ran up behind the shelves. Standing back up, I jiggled the shelves, pulling them out one at a time.

As I dropped the final shelf behind me, I noticed that there were three more holes up the back of the closet that had been hidden by the shelves. Pressing on the panel did nothing, so I cautiously stuck my finger in the first hole. Pulling back, the panel popped forward and began to creak as it folded up to reveal a pitch-black interior.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" I asked aloud as I reached for the flashlight on the foyer table.

Clicking it on, I gingerly stuck my hand forward and peered into the darkness. At first, all I saw was cobwebs and dust. Stepping forward, I played my flashlight over the five by five space when my light caught something shiny in one of the corners. Stepping closer to the far corner, I leaned down, then leaped back with a startled gulp, "Oh my gosh!"

Because what had reflected my flashlight was a gold tooth. That was still attached to a very human skull.

Spinning around, I dropped my flashlight, which shattered below my feet and took one step towards the opening when suddenly there was a great howl like the ones from my dreams. Before I could move again, the panel slammed shut and I was left in total darkness.

* * *

**Oh dear, Nancy's locked in a closet with a skull. That's a new one. Review please!**

**Love, **

**Striker**


	8. Chapter 8

**So, Agent Striker needs a boyfriend. It's been a longggg summer. I want a summer fling. Sorry, I get depressed when I read romace novels with happily-ever-afters. Dang you Deborah Reber, why did you write **_**The Language of Love**_**?! Now I am sitting here listening to sad, cheesy love songs. And watching the video for **_**Wanted **_**by Hunter Hayes. I AM PATHETIC. Okay, I'm done now.**

**Thanks to my readers and reviewers: (**_**you**_** guys make me happy)**

Smithy

Caranath

Smile Sweetly. Laugh Loudly

Ealasaid Una

Cupcake

**I was gonna go right back to Nancy, but I've decided to make you all suffer. Okay? Awesome! ;]**

* * *

**Joe**

After leaving Nancy at the house, Frank and I walked together to town, lost in our own thoughts. None of this case made sense, whoever this person was, he was seemingly targeting Nancy at random. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it _wasn't _random. Maybe it was just plain old paranoia but…

"-until one," Frank was finishing his sentence…or paragraph, then looking at me expectantly. Like I was supposed to answer or something.

I learned at young age it was not a good idea to pretend that you were listening to Frank when you really weren't. Especially after the time that I agreed to go on a blind date with his ex's crazy cousin, literally, I felt sexually harassed after just _talking_ to her. My brother was a wily one; I'll give him that. Bore me to oblivion then sneak in the real reason for the conversation when my eyes glazed over.

"I was _not_ listening," I said with a shrug.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because plain surprise doesn't even begin to cover the emotion that you're feeling right now. You feel truly…_flabbergasted_."

Frank shook his head, muttering something that might be considered rude in ninety-nine present of American- I mean Canadian households, "I said, if you finish early, go back to the house. I don't like the idea of Nancy being alone there until one."

I nodded, "For once, I agree with you, dearest brother. There's just something about that place…" I shuttered just slightly, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I agree. I can't quite decide if it scares me or intrigues me."

Intrigue wasn't the other word I was thinking of, but, _maalesh_. Oh, well. "Sounds good to me. I'm gonna head to the local diner and chat up some waitresses."

"Still hungry after your finely cooked breakfast?"

Ignoring his below-the-belt comment, I turned left on Main Street (which along with it's clichéd name, was the only completely paved road in this town), while Frank turned right towards the library.

There was only one diner in Ciel, not really surprising. It was a small, country-ish affair, clean with a long bar and a dozen or so tables. Pushing the glass door open set of a small chime and few seconds later, a cheery brunette waitress appeared as I sat down at one of the barstools. Aside from an old guy drinking coffee reading the paper as well as a young mom and a toddler at the corner booth, the place was pretty empty.

"Hi, I'm Katie. What can I getcha?" she smiled, dimples and all. Not to hard on the eyes.

"Well, Katie," I said, flashing a patented grin, "I'm Joe and I have a very big appetite. I am a growing boy, you know. What do you recommend?"

She laughed, "Well, we're nearly done servin' breakfast, but there's a stack of blueberry pancakes with your name on 'em."

I groaned and rubbed my stomach theatrically, "Oh, Katie. You know the perfect things to say, marry me!"

She rolled her eyes, flattered but apparently unimpressed, "You are something." As she disappeared into the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, "Whatcha want to drink?"

"Milk, please," I called back, glancing again at the patrons of the dinner again. "Nice weather, we've been having, huh?" I said to no one in particular.

The old man grunted before standing, dropping a few bills on the counter and disappearing out the door. The mom, who was currently pealing a saltshaker out of her daughter's hand before she could attempt to eat it, just flashed a smile. There was an uncomfortable pause afterwards that was cut by the wail of the frustrated toddler whose mother had again thwarted her attempts to eat the saltshaker. Still fussing, the mom picked her up out of her high chair and set her on the floor, where she promptly escaped towards me.

Waddling, 'cause there's no nice way to describe how toddlers walk, over to me, she stopped and stared at me with huge gray eyes surrounded by curly blonde hair. "Hello," I said seriously, sticking out my hand, "it's nice to meet you. I'm Joe."

Looking at my hand with sarcastic disbelief that I have found girls develop at birth, she said nothing and continued to stare. By then, her mom, who was the grown-up version of her daughter, had collected all of their stuff and was coming up behind her daughter, "Stella, honey. Come on, leave the nice man alone so he can eat."

Stella looked at her mom, than at me. Looking back at her mom, she said with a firm shake of her head, "No."

With a deep sigh, her mom brushed her hair out of her face and reached for Stella, who stepped closer to me, "Yes. It's time to go home."

"Park," was Stella's bargain.

"Maybe tomorrow, honey, we have to go home."

Stella's little face scrunched up in an I'm-about-to-cry face, so I cut in, "You should listen to your mom, Stella. Moms are always right."

Her mom smiled and blushed, but Stella didn't look convinced. "No," she said again, stamping her foot this time for good measure.

Reaching out for Stella, who twisted away and hid behind my stool, her mom ran her hands through her hair, "I'm sorry she's being a nuisance, it's the terrible-twos."

Grinning again, I replied, "Ah, it's fine. She's not bothering me."

Clamping onto Stella's arm, her mom scooped her up and sat her firmly on her hip. Smiling shyly, she glanced at me, "So, are you one of the American detectives?"

"Guilty," I said, "news sure travels fast around here…what did you say your name was again?"

"I'm Christine. Mollier. And this _is_ a small town," she shrugged, "not a lot happens. But I bet you've had an exciting life," she said with an almost wistful sigh.

I laughed, "It has its moments."

She leaned closer, conspiracy in her voice, "I heard that Rob down at the airport told you and your brother the Labelle ghosts."

I nodded, wondering idly what happened to my pancakes, "Yeah, he did."

"Did he tell you about the other ghost of Devil's Cottage?" she asked with the same wide gray eyes as Stella.

"No…but Devil's Cottage?" I asked, interested now.

"That's what some of us locals call it, 'cause of all the evil there," she crossed herself with her free hand, shifting Stella, "the house where your friend's staying."

"What about the other ghost?" I inquired…there it was, the smell of pancakes in the air.

"This one's a lot more recent. The '20s."

I bobbed my head encouragingly, "Yes?"

"Well, during the American Prohibition, moonshine making was real lucrative up here. They made it all over town then smuggled it over the border; rum-running, bootlegging. The story goes that when the Bouchard family owned the house, they ran the biggest moonshine still _and _biggest smuggling ring on the Hudson right out of the house. Then, one night in the late summer of 1926, something real bad happened.

The Bouchards, the father Leon and his brother Myles, two sons Markus and James, a cousin Horace and one teenaged daughter Maggie, had just closed the still for the day; it was around ten in the evening. They had all gotten into bed and fallen asleep when the sound of breaking glass wakes everyone up. They all run to the booze, it was their paycheck, when out of the blue; a masked shooter appears and kills them all. They found 'em that way the next day, scattered around the rum like they didn't even have a chance to run. There was talk of another secret room and a whole boatload of cash that was never found, too.

They say that it was a rival bootlegger, but I don't think that's the whole story. The only member of the Bouchard family that stuck around as the ghost was young Maggie. Some folks think that she had been seeing, dating you know, a son of the Julien clan, meanest rum-runners of the time. I think that this young man seduced poor Maggie, gaining her trust, then took her out along with the rest of the competition."

"Wow…that's quite a tale," I said as Katie silently delivered my pancakes and milk with a smile.

"All true, you can ask just about anyone," Christine said, adjusting the now squealing Stella, "Okay, honey, we're going. It was nice to meet you," she said with a smile.

"Likewise. Bye, Stella!" I said with a wave. Of course, she waved back. I do have that effect on girls of any age.

After the bell dinged and Christine and Stella disappeared from sight, I turned thoughtfully to my pancakes. An interesting twist indeed. Pulling out my cell phone (which had all of one bar or service, more than at Nancy's house), I sent Frank a quick text telling him that I'd learned about the house and the Prohibition era. He replied that he'd do some more research on the subject and I returned thoughtfully to my pancakes.

* * *

After paying for my meal, I'd asked Katie for directions to Lucy Michaud's house. The one hundred and nine year old lived in a little cottage five miles outside of the main part of town. "Five _miles_?" I asked, dismayed, hoping that I'd misheard her.

Katie hadn't been very sympathetic as she laughed, "It's not that far, Ms. Michaud walks it three times a week for bridge, church and grocery shopping."

Grumbling, I slunk out of the diner and down the street. I worked my way out of town, heading east around the edge of the bay. I'd only been walking for about fifteen minutes when I passed the long dock where I assumed Nancy worked. She'd mentioned her weekend job casually in passing, and I wasn't really expecting to be nearly tackled by her employers.

"You are a Hardy, yes?" a petite, very beautiful woman asked in a soft French-Canadian accent, stepping out in front of me and directly into my personal space bubble.

Taking a small step backwards (yes she was gorgeous, but still…), I made a face and nodded slowly, "Yeah, Joe. Why do you ask?"

Sticking out her skinny hand, she seized mine and squeezed it tightly, her amber eyes meeting mine, "I am Tara Dion."

I shrugged, "Nice to meet you?"

She frowned; apparently I was supposed to know her. Straightening up to her full five foot two inches, she pushed her long black hair out of her face and took a step back into my personal bubble, "Nancy works for my husband and I at our firework shack," she pointed over her shoulder.

"Ohh," I said, slapping my forehead, "Tara. Nancy told us about you and your husband."

"Dave and I have been very worried. She told us about some of the goings on at that house. I knew it was not a good idea to stay there," theatrically throwing her hand onto her forehead, she sniffled, "Poor Nancy, such a sweet girl."

"Yes, we were worried about her too, but we're up there with her now. We'll get everything straightened out."

Out of nowhere, a huge, hulking blond guy with short hair appeared behind Tara, took one look at me and scowled deeply, "Everything, okay?"

Still sniffling, Tara threw herself into the Hulk's arms, "Oh, Dave. I was just thinking about poor Nancy. This is her friend, Joe."

Finding out that I was not in fact making his wife cry, Dave seemed to loosen up a bit. Wiping his hand on his shorts, he extended it to me, then proceeded to crush my hand, "Nice to meet you. How's Nancy?"

"She's going good," I sort of fibbed.

The couple nodded together, "Well, tell her that if she needs tonight off to just call us, we can cover for her," Dave said.

"I think she'll be fine," I said, "But I'll give her the message."

After a few more minutes of chatting, I escaped to continue my hike to Ms. Michaud's cottage. About half an hour later, I was walking up the gravel road with tall trees on both sides, creating a shady tunnel. At the very end of the road sat a lone Arts&Crafts style cottage that backed up to the water like Nancy's place, although it looked newer than hers. Surrounded by the forest, the house had a tiny little garden around the side and a welcoming porch on the front.

Jogging up the stairs, I ran my hand through my hair before I knocked on the vintage looking red screen door. The sound of a happy canine followed by a voice reached my ears. Bounding up the hall was a fairly large black fur-ball followed by tiny little old lady with blue-gray hair dressed in jeans, slippers and a plaid shirt.

Stepping closer to the door behind the dog, she looked out at me suspiciously, "Yes?"

"Ms. Michaud?" I asked, smiling.

Still eyeing me with suspicion, she nodded, "Yes, I am Lucy Michaud."

"My name is Joe Hardy and I was wondering if I could speak with you for a few minutes."

"What do you want to talk about? If you're one of those salesmen-"

"Oh no," I was quick to reassure her, "I'm not a salesman, I'm a detective."

These were the magic words, "Oh, come in! Come in!"

Pulling the door back, she chastised the dog who was now wagging at me with his whole body, "Rudy! Be a good puppy!"

"Puppy?" I asked dubiously as Ms. Michaud lead me down the hallway to the sitting room which was furnished with original looking antiques and pictures of what I assumed to be grandkids…or maybe great grandkids.

"Yes, Rudy's a Newfoundland, he's only three months old. My grandkids thought I needed protection living way out here. Personally, I think that Rudy would slobber someone to death rather than try and really hurt them."

I laughed, and Ms. Michaud spoke again, "Can I get you something to eat, dear? I've just made some fresh muffins."

"I don't want be a bother-"

She waved her hands in the air, "Oh, it's no trouble! You just make yourself at home and I'll be back in a jiffy."

Disappearing to the kitchen, I looked around the room while Rudy reclined on my feet. Ms. Michaud was certainly a reader; the two built in bookshelves were stuffed with everything from mystery novels to history texts to hunting manuals.

Returning with a plate of delectable smelling muffins the size of my fist and a tall glass of milk, Ms. Michaud set it down on the coffee table in front of me and settled into the settee across from the table. "You look awfully young to be a detective," she said with a smile.

I blushed a little, "Yeah, my brother and I have been working cases with our father, he's a private detective back in the States, since we were just kids."

"American detectives, how intriguing! I do love a good mystery novel, as you may be able to tell," she said, motion to the thick Agatha Christie novel which sat on the end table, "But why do you need to speak with me?"

"Well," I began, pausing to take another bite of the muffins, man were they good, "as you may have heard, a friend of mine, Nancy Drew, is staying at Pierre Gustave's old cabin on the other side of town."

"Yes, I heard the girl whose family now owned the house."

"She's been having some problems. Some pranksters, silly things at first, but things have gotten serious. Someone tired to kill her a few nights ago," I said, deciding to be straightforward with Ms. Michaud.

"Oh, heavens! That's terrible!"

"It is," I agreed.

"What can I do?" Ms. Michaud asked, leaning forward.

"We've been hearing a lot ghost stories about the house, some people seem to think that it's haunted."

"But you don't put stock in those old stories," Ms. Michaud said wisely.

"Exactly," I replied, nodding enthusiastically, "and since you've lived your whole life around here, we were thinking is that you might have some more insight."

Sitting back, she thought for a minute, "Well, if I were you, I wouldn't totally discontinue the idea of the supernatural. Stranger things have been known to happen."

I was beginning to think that Ms. Michaud wasn't going to be much help, and it must have shown on my face. She laughed, "You think I'm a dotty old, no ancient woman, huh?"

"No-" I started to protest.

"It's okay, maybe I am. One hundred and nine is a lot of years, seen a lot of things. But I might just have an idea."

Standing up, and showing her age a bit, she walked stiffly to a small table that sat next to the door. She yanked the drawer open and pulled out a colorful pamphlet. She handed it to me, then sat down to watch my reaction.

The pamphlet was an advertisement for a bayside hotel to be constructed summer of 2010. It was one of those fancy spa places, and from the drawing on the cover, it was going to be huge. "Where'd you get this?" I questioned.

"A man brought it by, one of the partners…Michael something…Sinclair. Said he and his company were interested in buying my house and land to build this thing."

"Did you say yes?"

She shook her head, "No, even if their offer hadn't been totally unfair monetarily, I can't think about parting with this place. After I said no, I heard that they had been talking to Pierre before he died. When he died, the talk about the project stopped and I thought they'd given it up and moved on to another town."

"But they haven't?" I prompted.

"Nope, they've been back to talk to me. But their ideal location would be on the Gustave property."

Taking this all in, I asked another question, "Would the hotel be bad for the town? It'd bring a lot more jobs and money."

"True, but the company, Keene Incorporated, is known across Canada for being shady. And they'd be bringing all of their own people in to run things. More than likely, the hotel would push up housing prices and chase the locals out. But here, read this," she handed me a newspaper clipping from the local paper.

Just skimming it, the reporter impressed me. This Claire Paisley sounded like she knew what she was talking about. "Is this reporter a local?"

"Yes, born and raised. She's out of town for the weekend though, if you wanted to talk to her, you'll have to wait until Monday. You can keep the clipping if you'd like."

I stood, folding the paper into my wallet, "Well, thanks for everything Ms. Michaud, you've been a big help."

She handed me a doggy bag of muffins at the door beaming, "Lucy, please. Now you come back and visit me before you go back home. And bring your brother and your friend!"

I waved from the drive, "I will! Thanks again." As I walked back towards town, I ran through all the things I'd learned. The devil was walking the streets of Ciel, that's for sure.

* * *

I arrived back at the cottage a little before twelve that afternoon. I pushed open the screen door, dropped the key Nancy had given me on the table near the door and walked down the short hallway to the kitchen/living room.

"Nance?" I called, re-reading the newspaper article that Lucy had given me as I walked. When I didn't get any answer, I glanced up and gasped in horror.

The kitchen cabinets were spattered with what looked like blood, sending a horrifying message:

_**SHE'S OURS NOW.**_

In the middle of the first 'O' was a knife pinning a piece of the red tank top Nancy was wearing this morning. I started to turn around when the sky grew dark and fierce wind began to shake the house. Before I could move, there was a terrible howling sound so loud it sent me to my knees. Before I could think of getting back up, something heavy smashed into the back of my skull and everything faded to black.

* * *

**Oh! Cliffy! Really long chapter, yes? I work again next week, so it might be a little while before I update again!**

**Review please!**

**~S**


	9. Chapter 9

**Just so you all know, it's Friday, August 3, 2012. Although this may not be updated to day, I started it! I've also done a fair amount of research for the next couple chapters, so I hope this is all correct! Thanks to my readers and reviewers:**

Caranath

hlahabibty

Smile Sweetly. Laugh Loudly

olympicswimdream

rabbitlavell

* * *

**Frank **

After splitting up with Joe at Main Street, I headed towards the tiny library. Housed in the original town hall, which was built when the town was first settled, the small stone building rested grandly in a sea of green grass surrounded by a bed of roses.

Jogging up the steps, I pushed the heavy oak doors opened and plunged into the cool, musty interior. There were seven nearly ceiling high bookshelves, clearly labeled by genre. Seeing the 'History' section, but no librarian in sight, I wandered over to the last shelf.

Browsing, I reached for a book entitled _**Canada and the American Prohibition**_ by Gregory Garrett. Tucking it under my arm, I searched the shelves for any other Prohibition-era books, but apparently this was the only one. I was going to head back to the tables when a small sign caught my eye 'Local History.' Heading over to it, I looked through the three titles, _**Ciel, A Little Slice of Heaven Cookbook**_, _**Louis Labelle: The Ghost Stories of Ciel**_, and last but not least, _**It Was A Loggin' Town**_. I decided the cookbook, although written by a local, wouldn't be particularly helpful, so I grabbed the ghost stories and the logging town books.

I walked back out to the couple of tables in front just as a young woman stepped out from the back room. "Oh. Hello. I didn't know I had any customers. Did you find everything okay?"

I smiled and she blushed. I felt a little bit like Joe…which was sort of scary. "I found everything…but can I use the computer?" I motioned to the prehistoric PC sitting behind me.

She nodded, adjusting her wire-frame glasses, "Sure thing. Since no one else is here, take as mush time as you need."

"Thanks," I smiled again and sat down to fire up the thing. I could see the librarian watching me in the refection of the screen. She was sort of pretty, straight brown hair held back with a simple clip, sea-foam green eyes, with alabaster skin. She was wearing a pale blue and despite the heat outside, a light sweater.

She kept glancing at her watch, then at the door, and finally at me. Looked like she was waiting for someone. Pulling up my email when the computer finally came on, I skimmed through the list of messages from friends, spam and advertisements. Nothing important.

Next, I Googled Nancy's name. I had the distinct feeling that she hadn't told us everything that had gone on in her last case, the one in San Francisco. She'd taken this vacation rather abruptly, and it was a lot longer than the average one-week trips she usually took.

The first news piece that came up was about San Francisco 'Phantom' serial killer. Clicking on the link, I skimmed the article until something stopped me cold.

"_The perpetrator, a florist by the name of Harper DePaulett, 40, was fatally shot by the detective brought in by the SFPD, Nancy Drew, in the parking lot outside of his store."_

Nancy had said that DePaulett, the killer, was dead, but she certainly forgot to mention that she was one who killed him. Killing someone would send anyone like Nancy into a tailspin. She was wholly against violence; she almost never carried any sort of weapon.

Clicking the back arrow, I returned to the Google home page. After typing in 'Prohibition Era Smuggling,' I skimmed some of the top hits. Most of the information ran along the same lines, the idea of no alcohol or temperance had come about after the religious revival of the 1820s and '30s. Before World War I, there had been a temporary prohibition to save grain for food supplies during the war. Right after the war, Congress had enacted the eighteenth amendment in 1918 and it was ratified on January 29, 1919. Known more commonly as the Volstead Act, it wasn't something that was easily enforced.

Although alcoholism dropped thirty percent, people kept coming up with more inventive ways to get their liquor, making things harder for law enforcement. 'Bootlegging' encouraged criminal involvement and activities, and that's where names like Al Capone come in. Supposedly, Capone made 60 million dollars annually from his bootlegging connects. Speakeasies, moonshine, and gangsters, all earmarks of the roaring '20s. However, by February of 1933 , the twenty-first amendment repealed the eighteenth amendment and alcohol was again legal in the US.

On a whim, I skimmed an article on the logging towns that boomed in Canada from the start of the 19th century. Although the town of Ciel is located way outside of the primary logging regions, the town was part of the smaller industry working its way across the Hudson Bay. This part of Canada doesn't have the supply of pine that was in demand, so by the 1920s, things had really slowed down considerably, leaving ghost towns and tiny places like Ciel. With the decline of the lumber industry, the bootlegging industry boomed until the end of the Prohibition.

I picked up the books I planned to check out and headed towards the librarian just as the door burst open and a loud voice called out, "Yo, Lizzie!"

Both the librarian and I glanced over at the guy entering. He was just slightly shorter than Joe, with the same blonde hair and blue eyes. Dressed in a worn-out pair of oil-stained coveralls, I guessed he was about twenty-five. Hopping over the counter, he started to kiss the suddenly very red-faced librarian with vigor, while she was trying to inform him that they weren't alone.

"Rick- I- We're not- Someone's- RICK!" With a final shove, Rick took a step back.

"What's wrong?" Glancing over his shoulder, Rick apparently just noticed that I was also in the building, "Oh. I didn't know there was anybody here."

"I guessed that, Rick. I'll be right there."

Rick disappeared to the room behind the counter, face flaming and Lizzie smoothed back her hair, "Would you- I mean- You want to check those out?"

"Yes, but I don't-"

Still a very bright red she waved her hand in the air, "It's fine, take them. Just bring them back before you go back to the States."

"Okay. Um, thanks." I said with a smile as I headed to the door. Talk about an awkward situation…seriously, what are you supposed to do when that sort of thing happens? Look away? Clap?

* * *

I walked up the stairs to Nancy's house a little before one, "Hey! Anybody home?" I called, dropping the library books I'd gotten next to Joe's key. Somebody must be around somewhere.

Rounding the corner to the kitchen/living room, the first thing I saw was Joe lying on the floor and the bloody message on the cabinets.

_**SHE'S OURS NOW. **_

Rushing over to Joe, I knelt to feel for his pulse when he let out a low moan and a string of curses. I had to smile; Joe was always a hardhead, "Are you okay?"

More groaning, "Yeah, I think so. What happened?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing."

He sat up and was silent for a moment, "I came back, came in here to look for Nancy- Nancy! Did you see the note?"

I nodded grimly; this was no time to panic, "Yeah, and she's not here."

"We've got to find her, Frank, she was counting on us and we let her down!"

"I know, I know we did," Pulling Joe to his feet, we both looked around the house. "We should call the-"

"Wait, did you hear that?" Joe interrupted.

"Hear what-"

"Shh, that!"

I listened for a moment, but then I heard it, a steady pounding, "It sounds like it's coming from over here," I said, jogging to the wall.

Ear pressed against the wood, the pounding got louder. "It sounds like it's coming from the closet!" Joe shouted.

Throwing open the door, we began to toss things out until the shelves were bare. Yanking them out, I ignored the splinters, running my hand down the wall. Besides the pounding, there was now muffled shouting. "We're gonna have to break down the wall," Joe said.

I nodded, "Nan! Get back! We're going to break in!"

With a nod, Joe and I threw our weight into the wall, which splintered under our combined weight. We tumbled to the floor of a dark room. "Nan?!" I called out, standing up.

"Frank!" Nancy reached for my arm and jerked me towards her, "Get away from it!"

"What? Nan, what are you talking about?" I wrapped my arm around her waist protectively.

She pointed mutely to the corner where Joe sat. "Um, Frank? I think I know what 'it' is," Joe said slowly.

He shifted out of the way and the light from the hall reflected one the shiny gold tooth which was attached to a very human skull.

* * *

**Yay! Frank and Joe found Nancy. So, what do we think she learned in the dark hole?! This was kind of hastily re-read for errors, so don't go insane over the edge if you see an error.**

**~Striker**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey guys! I'm sorry it's been so long, life is just hectic! And school starts on the 29****th****…AHH! And may I just say that the 'school required' blazer I have to wear is bringin' back the eighties? Padded shoulders anyone? Plus, the arms are made for midgets. Striker is irked. **

**OH! And it was brought to my attention by **austenshire **that I am a noob. Not that she said that, but I am. In the last chapter, Frank had no reason to research the Prohibition, Joe was the one who learned about that! So I made a small edit in the middle of chapter three, at the end of the diner scene: **

"_After the bell dinged and Christine and Stella disappeared from sight, I turned thoughtfully to my pancakes. An interesting twist indeed. __**Pulling out my cell phone (which had all of one bar of service, more than at Nancy's house), I sent Frank a quick text telling him that I'd learned about the house and the Prohibition era. He replied that he'd do some more research on the subject and I returned thoughtfully to my pancakes.**__"_

**The bold stuff at the end is the new edit! Thanks again **austenshire**! And a special thanks to my readers and reviewers alike:**

Caranath

Smithy

Cupcake

Smile Sweetly. Laugh Loudly

moustachelover14

**Alright, let's go see how the gang's doing!**

* * *

**Nancy**

"Are you okay?" Frank demanded grabbing my shoulders and making me look at him.

Joe had stood up and moved away from the skull, his eyes glued to it. We were still inside of the secret room behind the closet, still way too close to the skull.

"Nancy?" Frank said again.

I gulped, "We have to get out of here."

Frank shot Joe a look that said he obviously thought I was delusional, but he nodded, "Alright, come on."

Grasping my hand, he led the way out of the back room, through the closet, and out the front door to the porch. I plopped down on one of the chairs, Frank and Joe each pulled up their own chairs close to mine. "Are you okay?" Joe asked.

I nodded, "Just spiffy. There are skeletons in my closet, but other than that…"

"I always knew you had a skeleton in your closet, Nan. But I never suspected you had more than one!" Joe said with a truly lame attempt levity. Frank and I both glared at him. He looked semi-sheepish, "Sorry. Continue."

"How'd you get in there?" Frank asked.

Shrugging, I explained as succinctly as possible, "I was searching the place from top to bottom and I hadn't found anything until the buttons that opened the panel to the room behind the closet."

It was Frank's turn to look sheepish, "Missed that one."

"She probably gathered that after we busted the wall down," Joe deadpanned.

A small smile slipped out, the Hardy brothers could make me smile no matter what was going on. I took a deep breath and continued, "I took my flashlight and stepped inside to see what was in there. There was this huge, howling wind, I dropped the flashlight and it broke and before I could get out, the panel slammed shut behind me."

"How long were you in there?" Joe asked.

I glanced at my watch, it read close to one thirty, "About three hours...it was just past ten when I started to clean out the closet."

"And then what?" Frank prompted.

I shuttered, then tried to hide it with a shrug, "I felt around the door for a way to get out but there wasn't any…

_Flashback:_

"_Hello?! Hello?! LET ME OUT!" I screamed, pounding against the door, then throwing myself against the door again and again. _

_About the hundredth time I threw myself against the wall, some semblance of sense was knocked into me and I stopped. I was smarter than that, I could think my way out of there. _

_Working my hands up and down the panel, it was completely smooth, no cracks, no seams, no holes. Still moving my way to the left, away from the skull, ran my hands over every inch of the place. The walls were beyond smooth, they felt like polished marble, hard like it too. _

_By the time I got to the corner where the skull sat, I was beginning to feel slightly sick. Feeling from the top of the wall down, my finger caught on a small ledge about two feet off of the ground._

_First I twisted it, then tugged, then pushed, and finally did a combination of all three that got things going. The same howl that had driven me to my knees earlier in my time at the cabin was ringing in my ears, but the gust of wind was an added to the mix. _

_It only took thirty seconds, but what felt like a lifetime later the wind stopped and I could just make out the faint outline of a doorway. Carefully, stepping over the skull, I felt my way blindly down a short hallway before almost tumbling down a shaft. When I finally found the ladder, I blindly climbed downwards for nearly three hundred steps. _

_When I arrived at the room at the bottom of the ladder, I was surprised to find a light switch. You'll never believe what I found when I got down there._

_End Flashback_

"Well? What was it?" Joe demanded impatiently, "you're starting to sound like the locals."

Frank kicked him and I had to smile again. I _was_ actually starting to sound like the locals. "A crypt. And a couple hundred thousand dollars in American currency."

"What?!" they chorused together, jaws slack. Frank recovered first, "Were you going to mention this to us?"

Looking down at my bruising hands, I nodded, "Yeah…oh, I don't know!" I stood up suddenly, "I'm losing my mind. There's nothing else I can say about it."

Stomping into the house, ignoring the two brothers I headed for my bedroom. Slamming the door shut, I changed into a pair of running shorts and grabbed my sneakers, shoving my feet into them. Heading back down the hall, I noticed for the first time, the ghostly message written across my kitchen cabinets. A shutter of fear raced down my spine; there was something very wrong about this place.

"Nancy- wait! Where are you going?" Joe called out as I pushed past him and the haunting message towards the door.

"For a run. I have to get out of this house," I yelled, breaking into a sprint as I hit the end of the steps, heading for the beach.

I was vaguely aware of more shouting but the memories from the hours in that hell hole, the ones I hadn't shared with the Hardy's were threatening to break through and send my life into an even wilder tail spin. So I ran.

* * *

**Oh Nancy! What are you doing to us?! And let me tell you folks, she ain't sharing with me either!**

**Review and I will hopefully update by the end of the weekend!**

**~Striker **


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello y'all! Ready for an update? Thanks to readers and reviewers:**

Caranath

Ealasaid Una

George

**You guys are the bee's knees!**

* * *

**Frank**

Joe and I stood for a second as Nancy ran down the slight incline towards the beach. "Someone should go after her," Joe commented without taking his eyes off the retreating figure.

"Yeah. I'll go," I agreed.

"And I'll check out the 'crypt.'"

"Not alone," I said, "I get the feeling that Nan didn't tell us everything that happened while she was trapped in there."

Joe grudgingly agreed, "You're probably right. She seemed like she was getting back to normal, but now…"

He let the sentence dangle, but I didn't bother to finish it. We were both thinking the same thing; Nancy was more on edge than ever. "You think we should call the police?" Joe asked, "About everything's that gone on here?"

I ran my hands through my hair, watching as Nancy got further and further down the beach, "I guess. I'd really like to check out the basement before they got here…"

"Go get Nancy, we'll wait to call the cops until we done a little investigation of our own."

"Sounds good," I nodded. With a wave I turned and jogged down the steps, following the same path Nancy had taken just a few minutes before. Man, she was fast.

Running at a pace that was a good deal faster than I would have liked for a nice jog, I raced out of the yard and past the end of the stone wall that was the property lines. The sand was damp from rain earlier in the afternoon, and if the dark clouds moving in from the east had anything to say about it, there was going to rain again.

A stiff wind blew off the bay, sending goose bumps racing up my bare arms and legs. Nancy was just ahead of me now, splashing through the shallow water as the waves came in then receded. "Nancy!" I called out as the first rumble of thunder reached my ears, "Nance, wait up!"

Ignoring me, she sped up, making a valiant attempt to put some distance between us. Unfortunately, Nancy may have been fast, but I had longer legs. When I matched her stride-for-stride, I tried talking again, "Nancy, let's go back to the house."

"No! No way I'm spending another minute in that place!" I could see her teeth were chattering even though she was trying hard to hide it.

"So you're just going run away?" I panted

She glared over at me, speeding up again, "I'm going for a run, not running away. There's a difference."

"The Nancy Drew I know doesn't run away from anything."

This stopped her. Panting, we stood in the ankle deep water, like some sort of face off…minus the weapons. Her face was flushed and a few of her strawberry-blond hairs were plastered to her face after they'd escaped from her ponytail. Her bright blue eyes, usually warm and happy, were ice cold. "What. Is. Your. Problem?" she ground out.

"I'm trying to help you Nance, Joe and I both are. But all of the sudden, you just shut us out. Let us help you. Let _me _help you."

She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. The rain had started to fall and we were both shivering as the wind battered us. "Let's go back to the house for now," I said gently, "Okay?"

She opened her eyes and nodded wordlessly, reaching out and grasping my hand. We turned, splashing our way down the beach, hand-in-hand. It was hard to focus with her warm hand in mine, really hard as a matter of fact, but somehow I managed to get us both back on to Nancy's property as the rain pounded down on our shoulders.

Running for the house, Nancy stopped short, just a few steps past the garden wall. "Come on Nan, we're getting soak-"

"Look!" She pointed towards the bench at the end of the yard that over looked the beach.

I opened my mouth to ask her just what I was supposed to be looking at when I saw _it_. I couldn't believe my eyes, but crossing the yard was a ghostly pale woman dressed in turn of the century clothing that looked like someone had bleached white. Before I could make a move to follow 'her', she was gone, fading away so fast I wasn't even sure that I'd actually seen her.

"Did you see her?" Nancy asked, pulling me towards the area near the bench where the 'ghost' had disappeared. She didn't seem afraid, like this new Nancy might have been. Looked like the regular Nancy was on her way back again.

"I saw something," I admitted.

She grinned as we ran, "So I'm not _too _crazy, you saw the ghost!"

We had reached the bench, more of a swing really, and she was bending down to examine the wet ground. "I saw _something_, but it wasn't a ghost," I said, glancing towards the wooded area across the fence.

"How do you explain the lack of footprints?" she demanded, standing with hands on hips.

I rolled my eyes, "There are no such things as ghosts, Nan. We both know better."

She shuttered as a clap of thunder shook the ground, "I'm not so sure anymore."

The rain started to come down harder, and I had to shout to be heard, "Come on! There's nothing out here, let's go inside!"

She nodded and we took off at a sprint towards the house. There was only a slight hesitation in Nancy's step when we reached the front door, which Joe held open for us. Sloshing in our shoes, Joe pointed out, "You guys are a little wet, huh?"

Both Nan and I reached out and punched him on the arm, not looking overly impressed with his astute observation. As Joe was whining about child abuse, Nancy cut him off, "We saw Bernadette's ghost!"

"What?!"

"We saw something, a flash of white," I cut in.

"It was more than that," Nancy argued, "It was a woman in period clothing."

"No. Ghosts," I said slowly, "Remember?" Joe never was as sure as I was that 'supernatural' was just a synonym for 'bull crap' and I didn't need the two of them teaming up for some sort of ghost hunt.

Nancy crossed arms determinedly, "Then what was it?"

I shrugged, "A flash of lighting, someone projecting the image from somewhere in the woods to try and scare us; I honestly don't know. But it wasn't a ghost."

Grumbling under her breath, Nancy said she was going to go change, and I followed suit.

The guest room Joe and I shared was cozy and bright, when there was sun anyway. Besides the large bay window on the wall opposite of the door, there were two sky lights made sleeping in a little difficult, but looking at the stars was pretty awesome. The room was set up to hold a lot of people, there were two sets of built-in bunk beds on either side of the bay window overlooking the Hudson Bay. On the left side of the door, one more single bed sat, all made up with fresh linens. The right side of the door held an antique roll-away desk, and at each end of the bunk beds there were small closets. The hardwood floor was covered with a soft, red woven rug.

After yanking on a pair of dry jeans, a t-shirt, and another pair of shoes, I grabbed the two flashlights from my bag headed back out to the living room. Nancy, dressed in a faded River Heights High sweat-shirt, old cut-offs, and blue converse, stood with Joe examining the 'bloody' message on the cabinets. "It's red paint," she offered when I came up behind the duo.

"Dry?" I asked.

Joe shook his head, "Not in the areas where the paint is really thick. Of course, with the humidity from the rain, that doesn't mean much."

Nodding, I glanced around the room, "Is anything else out of place?"

"Nothing I've noticed off the bat," Nancy replied, "but I haven't looked at everything."

"Are we going to go to the crypt now?" Joe cut in impatiently.

I could have decked him. As I shot him a glare, Nancy shook her head, "I'm not going back there."

"It's either that or you wait up here by yourself. And I don't think that's a good idea." I was right and she knew it. "Look, Joe and I will both be there. Nothing will happen to you, I swear."

"I-" the crack of thunder followed by the bright flash of lighting startled us all, and it changed whatever Nan had planned to say, "Okay, I'll go."

Smiling I turned to Joe, "You'd better put a call into the police before the power goes out, it'll probably take them a little while to get up here."

Nodding, Joe picked up the phone and spoke to the operator. Nancy and I stood together at the island. I smiled softly, reaching out for her hand, "We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise."

She smiled gratefully, but before she could open her mouth, Joe cut in, "The phone died. I think the deputy got the message…"

I shrugged, handing a flashlight to Nancy, then picking up one of the extras from the counter for Joe, "I guess that the best we can do. Flashlight check?"

After making sure that everything was working, and sticking an extra set of batteries in my pocket for good measure, we trooped towards the closet. Nancy led the way, since she knew where we were going, I was in the middle, and Joe was in the rear.

I didn't have any idea what was going to go down when we got to the crypt, but when Nancy's hand reached back to hold mine and Joe bumped into me, I smiled softly. With the storm at our back and the unknown ahead, it was good to know that I had the two people I trust most in the world so close by.

* * *

**So, a bit of filler, but the next few chapters will be very action-packed! Look for an update on Wednesday!**

**Love, Striker**


	12. Chapter 12

**AH! I know it's late Wednesday…barely Wednesday, but don't hate me. It's five o'clock somewhere! Thanks readers/reviewers! **

**So this is the Narrator sequence: N, N, N, N/F, N/F, J, N, J, F, N, F…I feel like Joe has been sorely under Narrated. We will have to fix that…yes?**

* * *

**Joe**

In my nineteen years, I have been in a lot of creepy places. Basements, 'haunted' mansions, wells, wine cellars, attics, crawl spaces, hidden tunnels, secret passages; I've basically seen it all. But the passageway from the secret room behind the closet to the crypt in what I guessed was a subbasement was one of the creepiest.

The dark wood paneled hallway was coated with at least a few dozen years of dirt, dust, and spider webs. And speaking of spiders, I saw at least nine that were the size of a small freight train. Seriously, I'm not exaggerating.

The tunnel, or rather a shaft, that led downward to the crypt was only about three feet across. Needless to say, it was a really tight squeeze. Ladies love them broad shoulders, but they make situations like this twice as obnoxious. And did I mention that there was no way to hold our flashlights? So we had them tucked in the waistlines of our pants. Add darkness to the mix and you have a whole party. One thing surprised me though, the ladder itself was super smooth; like a thousand hands and feet and gone up and down it a thousand times before I had.

After descending about nine feet through what I will forever think of as the 'Gauntlet of Claustrophobia: A Germaphobe's Worst Nightmare,' we reached the end of the ladder that led to a short hallway. Okay, so I will probably never remember 'Gauntlet of Claustrophobia: A Germaphobe's Worst Nightmare,' I just thought I'd throw that out there.

There was a short walk from the end of the ladder to the lighted crypt room. The glowing, flickering light came from half a dozen elaborate candle wall-sconces. On the wall directly across from the doorway were three squares of concrete with some simple geometric carvings. The two sitting next to each other had names but the one centered beneath them was without one. "Bernadette Marie Labelle, 1874 to 1899," Frank read aloud, "and Louis-Jean Labelle 1849 to 1899."

"So the LaBelle ghost story is at least partly true," I muttered as we moved closer.

"The dates correspond," Frank consented, running his hands over the lettering, "I wonder what this third one is for."

Nancy had been pretty quiet for this whole trip, so reaching out, I touched her arm, "You okay?"

She smiled a small smile, "Yep. I'm fine."

Not one hundred percent believing her, I casually glanced around the rest of the room, "So where's the money?"

This time, Nancy grinned widely, "This is the cool part."

Bending down to the third square, she pressed hard on each of the ten squares that ran along the sides. When she reached the last one, there was a pop followed by a whirling sound. Stepping back, we watched in awe as the piece flipped backwards and slid out of sight on some sort of hidden pulley system. Inside were five, neat but dusty stacks of American bills and some sort of envelope off to the side. The dust was barely disturbed, Nan had been careful when looking through the clues. Moving back to the opening I asked, "How did you find this?"

She pointed to the first square, "I was looking for a way to get out, I figured they didn't haul the-" she shuttered slightly, "bodies down that little ladder. I touched one of the squares and it easily moved. I played around until this hatch opened."

"It there anything further back?" Frank asked.

Nancy shrugged, leaning down to shine the flashlight into the cubby, "I didn't have a flashlight before…but look!"

She pointed to the far corner, and if I squinted, I could just make out what looked like an old fashioned key hole. "The other exit?" I asked, "maybe the caskets were inserted from the back side."

"Someone should go check it out," Frank said, glancing at me. Nancy, I noticed, was also staring at me.

"Oh no. Not me. It's Frank's turn to crawl through microscopic areas _not _made for human beings. Besides," I smiled my best Cheshire-Cat grin, "I didn't bring my lock picks down with me. And I don't have the key."

Frank frowned his I'm-about-to-go-all-Parental-on-you frown, "Really Joe? What if-"

I held up my hand, "I am well aware of my own alleged stupidity, thank you very much. We can skip to the part where you hand the money to me, the letter to Nancy, then semi-gallantly crawl back to the other door. Kapish?"

Still frowning mightily, and muttering choice things about me under his breath, he handed the money out to _Nancy _and the unaddressed letter to _me_. Someone was obviously still confused. Grinning at Nancy, I shoved the letter at her and caught the falling stacks of bills as Frank muscled his way down the narrow cubby.

"Are you going to read that?" I asked, motioning to the letter in her hand.

Nodding, she carefully pulled out a single piece of type-written paper. "Octave Buisson, Harbor Point, 9/30/20."

"Who's Octave…Buisson?" I asked glancing over to see the paper up close.

"I have no clue," Nancy said honestly, "It's sort of confusing that this case keeps switching back and forth between the turn of the century and the roaring twenties."

"Yeah…I wonder which era that skull upstairs belongs to," I replied.

Nancy made a face, "Lovely thought."

"Actually-"

A loud curse from down the cubby cut me off. Bending down, Nancy and I both looked at Frank curiously. "Are you okay?" Nancy asked hesitantly.

The succinct reply (after a few more choice words) was, "Yeah. Just awesome."

Shrugging, Nan and I returned to our conversation, "Anyway, what I was going to say, the lovelier thought is: Where's the rest of our friend upstairs?"

Before Nancy could answer, a strange breeze _whooshed _into the room, standing the hairs on the back of my neck on end. We both turned towards the door at the same time, letting out a matching gasp. Taking an involuntary step back and dropping the cash, I bumped into wall, sending the small cubby door clanging shut. I could hear Frank yelling, but it barely registered.

Standing in the doorway with the lights flickering wildly to either side, was the answer to my question, a headless skeleton cloaked with the darkness of the doorway behind him wielding a heavy-looking woodsman's ax. Somehow, even lacking a head, it gave off a terrifying aura, especially when it moved closer to us, his very real looking ax glinting in the light. Just then the breeze picked up to a full blown gale, blowing out the candles and hurling us into complete blackness.

* * *

**BaBoom. How'd like **_**that **_**action?! Look for an update tomorrow (MAYBE) or the day after!**

**~Striker **


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks to my readers and reviewers!**

* * *

**Joe**

Scrambling to turn my flashlight on, I yelled out to Nancy to stay close to me. By the time I got my light on however, she was disappearing out of the doorway, apparently on the heels of the skeleton, who was nowhere in sight. "Nan! Wait!" I yelled. I mean, my brother can be a pain, but we probably shouldn't leave him locked in a crypt.

In a whirlwind of a moment, I was caught between following Nancy and the possibly dangerous person _she _was chasing or trying to get the crypt. It wasn't really a hard choice.

As I raced after Nancy and the skeleton, I reasoned that there was a way out of the crypt on the other end and Frank had his lock picks. He'd be okay.

Turning left down a corridor outside of crypt room, one that I am almost 99% sure wasn't there when we went in; I followed the bobbing light from Nancy's flashlight. After racing down a short stretch of narrow hallway, we rounded a bend where I nearly bowled Nan over, "Whoa!" I shouted, stumbling to a halt, "What's wrong?"

She aimed her flashlight downwards, "Look."

Panting, I was awfully glad that I had such good breaks. The hallway ended at a huge pit, deep enough that the flashlight's beam faded away without reaching the bottom. I let out a pant-whistle, "Well, glad that we stopped here. What happened to our friend?"

She shrugged, shining her light around the walls, "I don't know…he was just in front of me, I tripped, then when I looked back up, he was gone and I was about tumble into this."

"Did he fall in?" I wondered aloud.

Nancy glanced over at me, "Or he's really a ghost."

"Nan," I said patiently, "you know how I hate to admit when my brother is right, but occasionally he is. There are no such things as ghosts."

Before she could answer, something very solid rammed into my back, knocking the air out of me and sending me flying into the pit. As I hurtled downward at an alarming pace, I tried to yell for Nancy, but the bottom of the pit wasn't as far away as I thought and before I could get the words out, I slammed into the floor and everything faded to black.

* * *

**Frank**

"Joe?! Nancy?!" I yelled as the crypt door slammed shut, "NANCY! JOE!"

Trying to turn my six-foot-one frame around in three by five space is impossible. Twisting and yanking and shoving and working up quite a sweat, I realize the only way I could get back to the other end would be to back up. And that really wouldn't be any help.

Moving back towards the little lock that had been giving me such a fit, I forced myself to focus. I had this sinking suspicion that Joe and Nancy were in some sort of trouble, something just felt _wrong. _Angling my flashlight up, I bent to work and after a few stressful seconds, there was a resounding _click_ and the door in front of me popped open.

Grinning, I rolled out onto the floor of a small room. It was completely stuffed with…well, stuff. Pulling myself off of the floor, I moved closer to investigate. One of the three tables that lined the wall was covered in computer equipment, including large computer monitor that had four different camera views of the house upstairs. One in somewhere in the great room that you could see the entrance and the kitchen, one in our guest room, one in Nan's room, and one on the corner of the house outside. Next to the monitor was some sort of high tec projector that looked like it had been hastily unplugged from the monitor itself.

Clicking the on button, I nodded grimly as the image that Nancy and I had seen out in the garden danced across my shirt. Turning it back off, I moved down the table. One of the most impressive listening stations that I'd ever seen sat next to a small black box. Picking it up, I slowly realized just what is was, an electromagnetic field emitter. Basically, an electromagnetic field emitter is a device that can be used to disturb a person's sleep cycles, give them headaches, or nightmares if placed under their mattress. Governments can use them to drive a totally sane person, a threat to the government, to suicide just by using one of these and a few pills.

Now it was all starting to make sense; why Nancy wasn't sleeping well, the nightmares, how on edge she was. Someone _was _messing with her. And watching our moves and listening to us.

The next table was piled high with papers. Old maps, new maps, geo-surveys, newspaper clippings, blue prints of this house and something much larger, and a stack of computer generalized photographs. I didn't even begin to understand all of it, but I got a gist. Someone thought there was _gold _in Ciel. It looked like they were going to buy up all of the area, tear out the houses, and then build a mine…or at least I think so. The plans for the luxury hotel didn't fit in, but there was an explanation for that in the mess of papers somewhere. I didn't have time to go through them all.

The final table was the emptiest. It had some of the stuff Nancy had told us she lost; a couple movies, clothes, food wrappers, but it was the handgun that caught my attention. It was loaded, so I stuck it in the waist band of my pants just for the heck of it. Turning towards the door that was across from the crypt entrance, I noticed a clothes hanger hanging off to one side. Whoever was behind the tormenting, he hadn't bothered to hang up any of the clothes that he had taken from Nancy, and I couldn't help but wonder what he was up to with this hanger.

Shrugging it off for the time being, I carefully opened the hall door and slipped into the hallway. It was time to find my brother and Nancy.

* * *

**Nancy**

When I opened my eyes, I wasn't one hundred percent convinced that I was really awake. I was somewhere very wet and very cold. Rubbing my eyes, all I could see was darkness. Sitting up proved to be harder than it usually was, sending a shooting pain all the way from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

Moaning, I managed to get into an upright position. While my head swam, I felt around me for the flashlight that had been in m hand when Joe and I fell, or pushed more likely, down into the pit. There was about five inches of water on all sides of me, and the flashlight was nowhere to be found. "Joe?" I called softly, my voice echoing off the walls around me.

There was a groan from somewhere to my left, "Oh. Geeze. Where- wait, why am I all wet?"

"I think we're in some sort of old well...do you have your flashlight?"

There was a _click _then a very dim light shone from the direction of Joe's voice, "Apparently, it's not a big fan of water."

I nodded, "Guess not."

Standing slowly, Joe shone his light around, "No doors…no windows…one small vent-like thingy that even you couldn't fit through. How do we get out of here?"

"Shine your light up to the doorway that we came in."

We both craned out necks up, searching the expanse of the space. There was no doorway in sight. "We didn't fall _that _far did we?" Joe asked, still searching.

I shook my head, pressing my lips together, "No. More likely our friend closed it up."

"Well, at least Frank's in the crypt. He should be around to get us at some point," Joe said with a forced laugh, "We'll just do some water aerobics 'til then."

As if summoned by the word water, a rushing sound filled our ears and then water was pouring out of the vent like Niagara Falls, "What now?!" I shouted over the roar.

The water was already up to my knees and rising steadily at an alarming rate. Joe's blue eyes met mine from across the well, "Swim?"

* * *

**CLIFFY! I AM MERCYLESS! And yes, I am aware that isn't how you spell merciless. So, here's the skinny according to Nick Calhoun. Actually Agent Striker, but I digress. Just TWO MORE CHAPTERS! I will either have one up tomorrow or two up on Monday!**

**The End Is Near. REVIEW!**

**~Striker**


	14. Chapter 14

**Second to last Chapter! Thanks to my readers and reviewers:**

Alicia Hardy

George99

Caranath

* * *

**Frank **

The hallway was fairly well lit, with old-fashioned lanterns placed about every ten feet. Keeping to the shadows, I moved quickly down the hall, searching for a door or something. I rounded a bend and the sound of voices drifted towards me. Jumping back, I silently pressed myself against the wall in the darkest spot I could find between two of the lights.

"…it's getting to hot," a woman's high voice was saying, "if those three kids caught onto us, how long will it take for the rest of the town?"

"It doesn't matter," a man's deep, smoker-gravelly, voice replied, "I took care of the girl and the blond guy. All we gotta do is make the other guy disappear and we'll be fine."

"Are you crazy? It's not like those kids don't have people who are gonna come looking for 'em. Three American detectives disappear while on vacation, like that's not gonna cause a stir!"

As the figures got closer, a third voice chimed in, another guy, "You worry too much, Kate. We'll dump the bodies out in the bay; it'll look like an accident," he laughed, "Hell, two of 'em will have really drowned. Maybe we'll just bury the third one. They were out swimming, storm rolled in, got washed away. Simple as that."

The three figures breezed past me; two of them dressed in some sort of costume. The taller one was wearing what looked like part of a skeleton and the shorter one in a suit with a white mask in one hand. The woman was just wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

"What if-"

"Oh, shut up Kate. Everything is under control."

They lapsed into silence and I slowly crept after them. At the end of the hall, the filed into the room I had just vacated and closed the door. Making a split second decision, I leapt forward, intensely glad that I'd noticed that the lock was on the _outside_ of the door. With just a flick of my wrist, the dead bolt soundlessly slid into place and the door was locked.

The voices continued to drone on, or at least they did until someone reached for the door and found it locked. "Hey, how'd the door get locked?"

I didn't wait to hear the answer, grinning as I raced down the hallway. It wasn't impossible to get out of the room of course, but at least I'd bought myself a little time. Time to get to Joe and Nan before…well, I didn't want to think about what might happen if I didn't get to them in time.

* * *

**Nancy **

After five minutes of the water roaring in, it was up to my waist.

After ten, I could barely touch the ground without going under.

After twenty, the water level had nearly reached the vent where the water fall was coming from. If we hadn't been doggy paddling so hard, I was afraid that we might die of hypothermia in the cold salty water before we drowned.

"Hey," I said panting, "Maybe-we can- block the- vent with- something. Stop the- water, or- at least- slow it- down."

"Worth- a- try," Joe muttered, yanking his t-shirt over his head, "Gimme- your- sweatshirt."

Pulling the soaking fabric over my head, my teeth started to clatter with the new onset of cold water, "See if- you can- get the- cover off- then stuff everything- inside."

Yanking at the grate didn't do much. "My hands- are to- cold," Joe ground out in frustration, "I can't-get it."

Moving next to him, we both pulled as hard as we could, but nothing helped. Shoving my sweat shirt and his t-shirt on the vent didn't do anything either. As the water level rose past the vent, the water pressure flung our clothes down and out of sight.

"Now what?" I asked, letting my doggy paddling stop for a second to rest.

"Maybe- once we get- closer to the- ceiling- we can get out there."

"We're not going to die," I said aloud, for both our benefits.

"Nope," Joe shook his head, spraying me with water like a mangy dog, "You know- this endless- doggy paddling- reminds me- of a swimming- instructor- I had once. Her name- was Helga- and she was- the devil."

I had to smile, leave it to Joe to bring up something to try and take my mind off of our situation. I let him lead the way to a better memory, "Really? The- Devil?"

* * *

**Frank **

The hallway began slopping upwards, and I stumbled to a halt in a doorway. Shining my light inside, I was shocked to see the other end of the crypt. Somehow, I wound up right back where I started. The money that had been in the crypt was scattered on the floor and it didn't look like anyone had gotten out this way. For good measure, I picked up a sturdy looking piece wood and pulled the door shut before using the board to keep it shut.

Moving down the hallway that I hadn't seen when we walked down here in the first place, the smell of salt water got stronger. The hall ended at a sheet of plywood with water leaking out around the edges. There was a noise on the other side, a noise that sounded a lot like a voice.

Something clicked then, and I shouted as loud as I could, "NANCY?! JOE?!"

There was a heartbeat of silence, then a reply that I couldn't quite make out. Not thinking, I rammed my shoulder into the plywood, opening up a small hole, "Joe, Nan, are you okay?"

"Yeah, the- water's great!" came Joe's voice.

"Frank, you- have to- find the water- shut off!" Nancy yelled.

"Help me break down this wall!" I yelled back.

"We'll flood- the place!" Joe shouted.

"Where's the shut off?" I demanded.

"WE DON'T KNOW!"

* * *

**Joe**

"I'll go and see if I can find it, I'll be back in a few minutes. Just hang on!" Frank's voice, followed by his retreating footsteps, filled our ears.

"What if- he can't- find it?" Nancy asked, looking over at me.

I shook my head, "We'll have to- break out of here- and take our chances- flooding the whole basement- I guess."

A somber silence took over as we waited for Frank to return.

* * *

**Frank**

Sprinting as fast as I could, I headed right for the room where I'd locked the three perps. The fastest way I could think of getting to the water shut off was to do a little bit of blackmailing. As quickly, and quietly as I could, I reopened the door, pulling out the pistol as I opened the door.

The two men I had seen and the girl jumped up when I pulled the door open, "What the-" a grizzled older man began when he caught sight of me.

"Where's the water shut off?" I demanded, skipping any preamble.

The other guy lifted his chin defiantly, "Why should we tell you?"

"Because if you don't, I will rescue my brother and our friend and leave you here to drown. You have thirty seconds."

The girl, Kate I think her name was, looked fearfully at her companions who didn't look like they were going to talk, "It's just down the hall, on the left!" she said in a rush, "Please don't let us drown!"

Slamming the door shut along with the dead bolt, I shouted as I ran, "You better hope you're not lying to me!"

Just about where I had stopped to hide in the shadows, I could make out a heavy-duty looking valve shut off. Spinning it as fast as I could, the sound of rushing water trickled off, then stopped completely.

With a grin of victory, I turned and ran back to where Joe and Nancy were waiting.

* * *

**Joe**

"Hey, I- think the- water stopped!" Nancy exclaimed.

Straining to hear the rushing water, a grin lit up my face, "He did- it! Two- points for- the elder- Hardy!"

"Watch it little bro, unless you relish the idea of hanging around in there for a lot longer!"

The water had only risen to about a quarter of the door, so with our combined effort, we crashed through the plywood and spilled out with a lot less water than it could have been. Grabbing one of my hands and one of Nancy's, Frank pulled us both to our feet, "Are you okay?"

Teeth chattering, I nodded, "A lot better now."

"Agreed."

Frank pulled his jacket off and handed it to Nancy, "I got them, it's all over."

"What?!" we yelled together.

Frank just grinned, "Come on, I'll show you."

We followed him down the hall and around several bends until we came to a halt at a locked door. Pulling out a menacing looking pistol, Frank unlocked the door, stepping inside. I followed him, and when I saw who was inside, my jaw it the ground, "Katie?"

The entire room looked at me. "You know her?" Nancy asked.

I nodded, "She works at the dinner…and he," I motioned to the old guy, "was at the diner to!"

"What about him?" Frank pointed to the final young guy.

I shrugged, "That one I don't know."

"Well, either way, they've all got some explaining to do," Frank muttered, looking between our three, "who's going to start?"

All three prisoners looked sullenly at the floor. Frank glanced around at their faces, "Okay, how about I start then you guys can fill in the missing pieces."

He took a deep breath, then began his story, "So, you think there may be gold in the land around Ciel," this was news to me, but not to our prisoners, "and you've made plans to start buying up the land in various ways…like maybe telling people you're building a high rise hotel?"

The mention of the high rise hotel brought me back to something that Lucy Michaud had told me, "Wait just a second; I think I might have some insight in to this. Does Keene Incorporated and Michael Sinclair mean anything to you?"

Katie's eyes got big and she involuntarily glanced at the young guy, _busted_. "So you must be Mr. Sinclair, or at least that's the alias you used around town to start buying property for your little 'high rise.'"

Sinclair said nothing, but he didn't have to. "So, the only thing that I don't understand is why your base of operations is in a hidden subbasement in my house," Nancy said, looking between the trio.

Surprisingly, it was the old man who answered, "We used this when no one was living here, this is where we found the traces of gold. We planned on making a quiet offer to you, the owner."

"And so you were trying to scare Nancy out of the house so she'd be more likely to sell out?" I asked.

"The costumes, the electromagnetic field emitter, everything we did to scare you was Michael's plan," Katie continued.

Michael sneered, "And it was working until your friends showed up and started asking questions."

This is the part of the story we've all heard a thousand times, "And you thought you'd get away with killing us, buying the house, then the rest of Ciel."

"I have news for you, I'm not an expert in reading geological surveys or lab reports, but I know enough to understand to read one."

"What?" Sinclair demanded.

Frank laughed, "I've been running all that information you have on the 'gold' though my head and it just it me. You sent a sample to the lab and asked if there was gold in it. They made a very long and detailed _no_. Someone didn't read the whole paper, did they?"

"You're crazy!" the old man yelled, looking over at his partners in crime.

"No, I think you are," Nancy replied.

Suddenly, another voice echoed down the hallway to us, "This is Sheriff Jon Amos, is anybody down here?"

Nancy grinned, "Sounds like your ride is here, guys."

Grinning myself, I shouted in the direction of the sheriff's voice, "We're down here!"

When the sheriff and his deputy arrived and were filled in on the situation, they quickly took over, herding Katie, Michael Sinclair and the old man, Carl Jenkins, back towards ladder and up to civilization. "And the great team of Hardy, Drew and Hardy saves the day again!" I said happily as I fell into step with Frank and Nancy.

"We got 'em, and I'm not crazy," Nancy agreed. As the seasoned investigator that I am, I did indeed notice the fact that Nancy and Frank were holding hands _again_, but decided not to be obnoxious about this afore mentioned fact.

"I don't know about that…" I said with a grin. She smacked me on the arm, simply widening my grin.

"All's well that ends well," was Frank's comment.

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**AH! ALMOST DONE! Just and epilogue and we should be good to go!**

**~Striker **


	15. Chapter 15

**A short epilogue:**

* * *

**Nancy**

"So there is _gold_ under our little town?" Tara asked after I finished filling her in on what had happened, switching Ivory from one hip to the other as we stood outside of the fireworks shack.

"No," I replied, shaking my head, "that's what Katie, Carl Jenkins, and Michael Sinclair _thought_. They read their lab report wrong."

Tara shook her head, "Of all of the crazy ideas…and they were willing to kill for it!"

"Greed is a powerful force," I agreed.

We stood in silence watch the waves. The late August sun had warmed the boardwalk below my feet and the cool salty mist felt good on my face. The sun now sat just at the horizon, casting an orange glow over the beach.

"Take the night off," Tara said finally, breaking the silence.

"No, there's no reason-"

Tara dismissed me with a wave of her hand, "Go. Your friends are leaving day after tomorrow, yes? Have some _real _vacation."

I smiled, giving her a quick hug, "Thanks, Tara."

I turned and jogged down the boardwalk, planning on heading home to see what the guys wanted to do. "Running away from work, really Nancy?"

Joe and Frank stood just off to the side of the pizza place, each with an arm full of stuff. "What are you two doing here?"

"We're going to have a bonfire, you're welcome to come if you'd like," Frank replied, "I heard you have the night off."

"How-? Ohh, no wonder Tara knew when you were leaving!"

They just grinned, then headed towards the beach. We stopped right on the beach and Frank dropped an arm full of wood into a pre-made fire pit while Joe dropped a blanket on the sand along with a picnic basket. Pulling out three bottles of what looked like lemonade, Joe handed one to me, then one to Frank who fanned the bonfire as it grew to a cheery blaze.

Popping open my lemonade, I sat back in the sand, "Now this is the good life."

"I propose a toast," Joe said a few minutes later, rousing himself. The smell of roasting hot dogs was making my mouth water, Frank had switched on the radio and it was playing a soft summer song. It was almost dark and the stars were bright against the navy sky. "To good days with friends and without a crime to solve…"

"May the friends last and the crime rate pick back up," Frank finished.

Laughing, we clicked our bottles together. Sitting my bottle in the sand, I jumped to my feet, "Who wants to go swimming?" I asked, pulling of my t-shirt to reveal my bikini top.

"Dude, food's almost ready, and it's like nine degrees in that water on a good day," Joe said.

"I'm in," Frank replied, pulling off his own shirt, "last one in is a rotten egg!"

Laughing, we raced down the beach and just as our feet hit the icy water, Joe's footsteps caught up with us. Diving head first into the water, he came up sputtering, "It's FREEZING!"

Reaching out for Frank's hand, I pulled him into the water with me, screeching as Joe splashed at me. We swum out as far as we could before everything felt numb, then raced back to the beach and up to the bonfire. Wrapping up in a towel with a slightly burnt hog dog, I had to smile again.

The two bothers across the bonfire from me were bickering over the catsup, the sky was clear, the ocean cold, and the fire warm. This _was _the good life.

**The End.**

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**Wow, I can't believe that I'm done! Thanks to all of my faithful followers, your continued support and reviews mean so much to me!**

**Look for another ND/HB crossover story sometime in the future!**

**~Striker **


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